THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


PLAIN   TALES   FKOM   THE   HILLS 


Plain   Tales   from   the 
Hills 

With  a  Biographical  Sketch  by 

Charles   Eliot  Norton 


RE7ISED    EDITION 


By  Rudyard  Kipling 


PUBUSHKD  BY 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

FOR 

REVIEW  OF  REVIEWS  CO. 

IQT2 


Raised,  April,  1999 

COPYRIGHT,  1899 
BY  RUDYARD  KIPLING 


College 
Library 


TO 

THE  WITTIEST  WOMAN  IN  INDIA 
I  DEDICATE  THIS  BOOK 


PREFACE 

EIGHT- AND-TWENTY  of  these  tales  appeared  originally 
in  the  Civil  and  Military  Gazette.  I  am  indebted  to 
the  kindness  of  the  Proprietors  of  that  paper  for 
permission  to  reprint  them.  The  remaining  tales  are, 
more  or  less,  new. 

BUDYARD  KIPLDJG. 


CONTENTS 


PAGB 
LlSPETH ..1 

THREE  AND AN  EXTRA 8 

THROWN  AWAY 14 

Miss  YOUGIIAL'S  SAIS 25 

'YOKED  WITH  AN  UNBELIETEK'           ......  38 

FALSE  DAWN 39 

THE  RESCUE  OF  PLUFFLBS           .......  50 

CUPID'S  ARROWS 57 

HAUNTED  SUBALTERNS           ........  63 

THE  THREE  MUSKETEERS .70 

His  CHANCE  IN  LIFE ,         .  78 

"WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT 85 

THE  OTHER  MAN 92 

CONSEQUENCES                , 97 

THE  CONVERSION  OF  AURELIAN  McGoGGiN         ....  101 

THE  TAKING  OF  LUNGTUNGPEN Ill 

BITTERS  XEAT 119 

A  GERM-DESTROYER     .........  1'26 

KIDNAPPED    ...........  loo 

THE  ARREST  op  LIEUTENANT  GOLIGHTLY   .....  140 

IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  SUDDIIOO 147 

His  WEDDED  WIFE 158 

iz 


X  CONTENTS 

PAGB 

THE  BROKEN-LINK  HANDICAP      . 166 

BEYOND  THE  PALE 173 

IN  EBROK 181 

A  BANK  FRAUD 187 

TODS'  AMENDMENT 196 

THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  KEGIMENT 204 

IN  THE  PRIDE  OF  HIS  YOUTH 211 

PIG 219 

THE  KOUT  OP  THE  WHITE  HUSSARS 228 

THE  BRONCKHORST  DIVORCE-CASE 241 

VENUS  ANNODOMINI 249 

THE  BISARA  OF  POOREE 255 

A  FRIEND'S  FRIEND 262 

THE  GATE  OF  THE  HUNDRED  SORROWS 269 

THE  MADNESS  OF  PRIVATE  ORTHERIS 278 

THE  STORT  OF  MUHAMMAD  DIN 288 

ON  THE  STRENGTH  OF  A  LIKENESS 293 

WRESSLEY  OF  THE  FOREIGN  OFFICE 301 

BY  WORD  OF  MOUTH .  808 

To  BE  FILED  FOR  REFERENCE 314 


KUDYABD    KIPLING 

A  BIOGEAPHICAL   SKETCH 
BY  CHAKLES  ELIOT  NORTON 

THE  deep  and  widespread  interest  which  the  writ- 
ings  of  Mr.  Rudyard  Kipling  have  excited  has  naturally 
led  to  curiosity  concerning  their  author  and  to  a  desire 
to  know  the  conditions  of  his  life.  Much  has  been  writ- 
ten about  him  which  has  had  little  or  no  foundation  in 
truth.  It  seems  then  worth  while,  in  order  to  prevent 
false  or  mistaken  reports  from  being  accepted  as  trust- 
worthy, and  in  order  to  provide  for  the  public  such 
information  concerning  Mr.  Kipling  as  it  has  a  right 
to  possess,  that  a  correct  and  authoritative  statement 
of  the  chief  events  in  his  life  should  be  given  to  it. 
This  is  the  object  of  the  following  brief  narrative. 

Rudyard  Kipling  was  born  at  Bombay  on  the  30th  of 
December,  1865.  His  mother,  Alice,  daughter  of  the 
Rev.  G.  B.  Macdonald,  a  Wesleyan  preacher,  eminent 
iu  that  denomination,  and  his  father,  John  Lockwood 
Kipling,  the  son  also  of  a  Wesleyan  preacher,  were  both 
of  Yorkshire  birth.  They  had  beim  married  in  London 
early  in  the  year,  and  they  named  their  firstborn  child 
after  the  pretty  lake  in  Staffordshire  on  the  borders  of 
which  their  acquaintance  had  begun.  Mr.  Lockwood 
Kipling,  after  leaving  school,  had  served  his  apprentice- 


Xii  A  BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH 

ship  in  one  of  the  famous  Staffordshire  potteries  at 
Burslem,  had  afterward  worked  in  the  studio  of  the 
sculptor,  Mr.  Birnie  Philip,  and  from  1861  to  1865  had 
been  engaged  on  the  decorations  of  the  South  Kensing- 
ton Museum.  During  our  American  war  and  in  the 
years  immediately  following,  the  trade  of  Bombay  was 
exceedingly  flourishing,  the  city  was  immensely  pros- 
perous, a  spirit  of  inflation  possessed  the  government 
and  the  people  alike,  there  were  great  designs  for  the 
improvement  and  rebuilding  of  large  portions  of  the 
town,  and  a  need  was  felt  for  artistic  oversight  and 
direction  of  the  works  in  hand  and  contemplated.  The 
distinction  which  Mr.  Lockwood  Kipling  had  already 
won  by  his  native  ability  and  thorough  training  led  to 
his  being  appointed  in  1865  to  go  to  Bombay  as  the  pro- 
fessor of  Architectural  Sculpture  in  the  British  School 
of  Art  which  had  been  established  there. 

It  was  thus  that  Rudyard  Kipling  came  to  be  born 
in  the  most  cosmopolitan  city  of  the  Eastern  world,  and 
it  was  there  and  in  its  neighbourhood  that  the  first  three 
years  of  the  boy's  life  were  spent,  years  in  which  every 
child  receives  ineffaceable  impressions,  shaping  his  con- 
ceptions of  the  world,  and  in  which  a  child  of  peculiarly 
sensitive  nature  and  active  disposition,  such  as  this  boy 
possessed,  lies  open  to  myriad  influences  that  quicken 
and  give  colour  to  the  imagination. 

In  the  spring  of  1868  he  was  taken  by  his  mother  for 
a  visit  to  England,  and  there,  in  the  same  }7ear,  his  sister 
was  born.  In  the  next  year  his  mother  returned  to  India 
with  both  her  children,  and  the  boy's  next  two  years 
were  spent  at  and  near  Bombay. 

He  was  a  friendly  and  receptive  child,  eager,  inter- 
ested in  all  the  various  entertaining  aspects  of  life  in  a 


A  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH  xiii 

city  which,  "  gleaning  all  races  from  all  lands,"  presents 
more  diversified  and  picturesque  varieties  of  human 
condition  than  any  other,  East  or  West.  A  little  inci- 
dent which  his  mother  remembers  is  not  without  a 
pretty  allegoric  significance.  It  was  at  Nasik,  on  the 
Dekhan  plain,  not  far  from  Bombay,  the  little  fellow 
trudging  over  the  ploughed  field,  with  his  hand  in 
that  of  the  native  husbandman,  called  back  to  her  in 
the  Plindustani,  which  was  as  familiar  to  him  as  Eng- 
lish, "  Good-by,  this  is  my  brother." 

In  1871  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kipling  went  with  their  chil- 
dren to  England,  and  being  compelled  to  return  to 
India  the  next  year,  they  took  up  the  sorrow  common 
to  Anglo-Indian  lives,  in  leaving  their  children  "  at 
home,"  in  charge  of  friends  at  Southsea,  near  Ports- 
mouth. It  was  a  hard  and  sad  experience  for  the  boy. 
The  originality  of  his  nature  and  the  independence  of 
his  spirit  had  already  become  clearly  manifest,  and  were 
likely  to  render  him  unintelligible  and  perplexing  to 
whosoever  might  have  charge  of  him  unless  they  were 
gifted  with  unusual  perceptions  and  quick  sympathies. 
Happil}r  his  mother's  sister,  Mrs.  (now  Lady)  Burne- 
Jones,  was  near  at  hand,  in  case  of  need,  to  care  for 
him. 

In  the  spring  of  1877  Mrs.  Kipling  came  to  England 
to  see  her  children,  and  was  followed  the  next  year  by 
her  husband.  The  children  were  removed  from  South- 
>e;i,  and  Kudyard,  grown  into  a  companionable,  active- 
minded,  interesting  boy,  now  in  his  thirteenth  year,  had 
the  delight  of  spending  .some  weeks  in  Paris,  with  his 
f;i;her,  attracted  thither  by  the  exhibition  of  that  year, 
ilis  eyesight  had  been  for  some  time  a  source  of  trouble 
to  him,  and  the  relief  was  great  from  glasses,  which  were 


A  BIOGKAPHICAL   SKETCH 

specially  fitted  to  his  eyes,  and  with  which  he  has  never 
since  been  able  to  dispense. 

On  the  return  of  his  parents  to  India,  early  in  1878, 
Rudyard  was  placed  at  the  school  of  Westward  Ho, 
at  Bideford,  in  Devon.  This  school  was  one  chiefly  in- 
tended for  the  sons  of  members  of  the  Indian  services, 
most  of  whom  were  looking  forward  to  following  their 
father's  career  as  servants  of  the  crown.  It  was  in 
charge  of  an  admirable  head-master,  Mr.  Cormell  Price, 
whose  character  was  such  that  he  won  the  affection  of 
his  boys  no  less  than  their  respect.  The  young  Kipling 
was  not  an  easy  boy  to  manage.  He  chose  his  own 
way.  His  talents  were  such  that  he  might  have  held 
a  place  near  the  highest  in  his  studies,  but  he  was 
content  to  let  others  surpass  him  in  lessons,  while  he 
yielded  to  his  genius  in  devoting  himself  to  original 
composition  and  to  much  reading  in  books, of  his  own 
choice.  He  became  the  editor  of  the  school  paper,  he 
contributed  to  the  columns  of  the  local  Bideford  Jour- 
nal, he  wrote  a  quantity  of  verse,  and  was  venture- 
some enough  to  send  a  copy  of  verses  to  a  London 
journal,  which,  to  his  infinite  satisfaction,  was  accepted 
and  published.  Some  of  his  verses  were  afterward 
collected  in  a  little  volume,  privately  printed  by  his 
parents  at  Lahore,  with  the  title  Schoolboy  Lyrics. 
All  through  his  time  at  school  his  letters  to  his  parents- 
in  India  were  such  as  to  make  it  clear  to  them  that  his 
future  lay  in  the  field  of  literature. 

His  literary  gifts  came  to  him  by  inheritance  from 
both  the  father  and  mother,  and  they  were  nurtured 
and  cultivated  in  the  circle  of  relatives  and  family 
friends  with  whom  his  holidays  were  spent.  A  sub- 
master  at  Westward  Ho,  though  little  satisfied  with  the 


A  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH  XV 

boy's  progress  in  the  studies  of  the  school,  gave  to  him 
the  liberty  of  his  own  excellent  library.  The  holidays 
were  spent  at  the  Grange,  in  South  Kensington,  the 
home  of  his  aunt  and  uncle,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Burne-Jones, 
and  here  he  came  under  the  happiest  possible  domestic 
influences,  and  was  brought  into  contact  with  men  of 
highest  quality,  whose  lives  were  given  to  letters  and 
the  arts,  especially  with  William  Morris,  the  closest 
intimate  of  the  household  of  the  Grange.  Other  homes 
were  open  to  him  where  the  pervading  influence  was 
that  of  intellectual  pursuits,  and  where  he  had  access 
to  libraries  through  which  he  was  allowed  to  wander 
and  to  browse  at  his  will.  The  good  which  came  to 
him,  directly  and  indirectly,  from  these  opportunities 
can  hardly  be  overstated.  To  know,  to  love,  and  to  be 
loved  by  such  a  man  as  Burne-Jones  was  a  supreme 
blessing  in  his  life. 

In  the  autumn  of  1882,  having  finished  his  course  at 
school,  a  position  was  secured  for  him  on  the  Civil 
and  Military  G-azette,  Lahore,  and  he  returned  to  his 
parents  in  India,  who  had  meanwhile  removed  from 
Bombay  to  Lahore,  where  his  father  was  at  the  head  of 
the  most  important  school  of  the  arts  in  India.  The 
Civil  and  Military  G-azette  is  the  chief  journal  of 
northwestern  India,  owned  and  conducted  by  the  man- 
agers and  owners  of  the  Allahabad  Pioneer,  the  ablest 
and  most  influential  of  all  Indian  newspapers  published 
in  the  interior  of  the  country. 

For  five  years  he  worked  hard  and  steadily  on  the 
Gazette.  Much  of  the  work  was  simple  drudgery. 
He  shirked  nothing.  The  editor-in-chief  was  a  some- 
what grim  man,  who  believed  in  snubbing  his  subordi- 
nates, and  who,  though  he  recognised  the  talents  of  the 


xvi  A  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

"clever  pup,"  as  he  called  him,  and  allowed  him  a 
pretty  free  hand  in  his  contributions  to  the  paper,  yet 
was  inclined  to  exact  from  him  the  full  tale  of  the 
heavy  routine  work  of  a  newspaper  office. 

But  these  were  happy  years.  For  the  youth  was 
feeling  the  spring  of  his  own  powers,  was  full  of  interest 
in  life,  was  laying  up  stores  of  observation  and  expe- 
rience, and  found  in  his  own  home  not  only  domestic 
happiness,  but  a  sympathy  in  taste  and  a  variety  of 
talent  and  accomplishment  which  acted  as  a  continual 
stimulus  to  his  own  genius.  Father,  mother,  sister,  and 
brother  all  played  and  worked  together  with  rare  com- 
bination of  sympathetic  gifts.  In  1885  some  of  the 
verses  with  the  writing  of  which  he  and  his  sister  had 
amused  themselves  were  published  at  Lahore,  in  a  little 
volume  entitled  Echoes,  because  most  of  them  were 
lively  parodies  on  some  of  the  poems  of  the  popular 
poets  of  the  day.  The  little  book  had  its  moment  of 
narrowly  limited  success,  and  opened  the  way  for  the 
wider  notoriety  and  success  of  a  volume  into  which 
were  gathered  the  Departmental  Ditties  that  had 
appeared  from  time  to  time  in  the  Grazette.  Many 
of  the  stories  also  which  were  afterward  collected 
under  the  now  familiar  title  of  Plain  Tales  from  the 
Hills  made  their  first  appearance  in  the  Gazette, 
and  attracted  wide  attention  in  the  Anglo-Indian 
community. 

Kipling's  work  for  live  years  at  Lahore  had  indeed 
been  of  such  quality  that  it  was  not  surprising  that  he 
was  called  down  to  Allahabad,  in  1887,  to  take  a  place 
upon  the  editorial  staff  of  the  Pioneer.  The  training 
of  an  Anglo-Indian  journalist  is  peculiar.  He  has  to 
master  knowledge  of  many  kinds,  to  become  thoroughly 


A  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH  xvii 

acquainted  with  the  affaire  of  the  English  administra- 
tion and  the  conditions  of  Anglo-Indian  life,  and  at  the 
same  time  with  the  interests,  the  modes  of  life,  and 
thought  of  the  vast  underlying  native  population.  The 
higher  positions  in  Indian  journalism  are  places  of  gen- 
uine importance  and  of  large  emolument,  worthy  ob- 
jects of  ambition  for  a  young  man  conscious  of  literary 
faculty  and  inspired  with  zeal  for  public  ends. 

The  Pioneer  issued  a  weekly  as  well  as  a  daily 
edition,  and  in  addition  to  his  regular  work  upon  the 
daily  paper,  Kipling  continued  to  write  for  the  weekly 
issue  stories  similar  to  those  which  had  already  won 
him  reputation,  and  they  now  attracted  wider  attention 

than  ever.     His  home  at  Allahabad  was  with  Professor 

» 

Hill,  a  man  of  science  attached  to  the  Allahabad  Col- 
lege. But  the  continuity  of  his  life  was  broken  by 
various  journeys  undertaken  in  the  interest  of  the 
paper,  —  one  through  Rajputana,  from  which  he  wrote  a 
series  of  descriptive  letters,  called  Letters  of  Marque; 
another  to  Calcutta  and  through  Bengal,  which  resulted 
in  The  City  of  Dreadful  Niaht  and  other  letters  de- 
scribing the  little-known  conditions  of  the  vast  presi- 
dency; and,  finally,  in  1889,  he  was  sent  off  by  the 
Pioneer  on  a  tour  round  the  world,  on  which  he 
was  accompanied  by  his  friends,  Professor  and  Mrs. 
Hill.  Going  first  to  Japan,  he  thence  came  to  Amer- 
ica, writing  on  the  way  and  in  America  the  letters 
u'hieh  appeared  in  the  Pioneer  under  the  title  of 
i-'ro'iii  Sea  to  Sea;  and  in  September,  1889,  he  arrived 
in  London. 

His  Indian  repute  had  not  preceded  him  to  such 
degree  as  to  make  the  way  easy  for  him  through  the 
London  crowd.  But  after  a  somewhat  dreary  winter, 


xviii  A  BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH 

during  which  he  had  been  making  acquaintances  and 
had  found  irregular  employment  upon  newspapers  and 
magazines,  arrangements  were  made  with  Messrs.  Mac- 
millan  &  Co.  for  the  publication  of  an  edition  of  Plain 
Tales  from  the  Hills.  The  book  appeared  in  June. 
Its  success  was  immediate.  It  was  republished  at  once 
in  America,  and  was  welcomed  as  warmly  on  this  side 
of  the  Atlantic  as  on  the  other.  The  reprint  of  Kip- 
ling's other  Indian  stories  and  of  his  Departmental 
Ditties  speedily  followed,  together  with  the  new  tales 
and  poems  which  showed  the  wide  range  of  his  creative 
genius.  Each  volume  was  a  fresh  success ;  each  ex- 
tended the  circle  of  Mr.  Kipling's  readers,  till  now  he 
is  the  most  widely  known  of  English  authors.  The 
list  which  follows  this  sketch  gives  the  dates  of  his 
many  publications. 

In  1891  Mr.  Kipling  left  England  for  a  long  voyage 
to  South  Africa,  Australia,  New  Zealand,  and  Ceylon, 
and  thence  to  visit  his  parents  at  Lahore.  On  his  re- 
turn to  England,  he  was  married  in  London  to  Miss 
Balestier,  daughter  of  the  late  Mr.  Wolcott  Balestier 
of  New  York.  Shortly  after  their  marriage,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Kipling  visited  Japan,  and  in  August  they  came 
to  America.  They  established  their  home  at  Brattle- 
boro,  Vermont,  where  Mrs.  Kipling's  family  had  a 
large  estate ;  and  here,  in  a  pleasant  and  beautifully 
situated  house  which  they  had  built  for  themselves, 
their  two  eldest  children  were  born,  and  here  they  con- 
tinued to  live  till  September,  1896. 

During  these  four  years,  Mr.  Kipling  made  three 
brief  visits  to  England  to  see  his  parents,  who  had  left 
India  and  were  no\v  settled  in  the  old  country. 

The  winter   of   1897-98  was  spent   by  Mr.  Kipling 


A  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH  xix 

and  his  family,  accompanied  by  his  father,  in  South 
Africa.  He  was  everywhere  received  with  the  utmost 
cordiality  and  friendliness. 

Returning  to  England  in  the  spring  of  1898,  he  took 
a  house  at  Rottingdean,  near  Brighton,  with  intention 
to  make  it  his  permanent  home. 

Of  the  later  incidents  of  his  life  there  is  no  need 
to  speak. 


BOOKS  BY  RUDYAKD  KIPLING 

SCHOOLBOY  LYRICS  (privately  printed).     1882. 

ECHOES  BY  Two  WRITERS.     1881. 

QUARTETTE.  THE  CHRISTMAS  ANNUAL  of  the  Civil  and 
Military  Gazette  by  Four  Anglo-Indian  Writers.  Lahore. 
1885. 

ON  HER  MAJESTY'S  SERVICE  ONLY.  DEPARTMENTAL  DITTIES 
AND  OTHER  VERSES.  To  All  Heads  of  Departments  and  All 
Anglo-Indians.  Iludyard  Kipling,  Assistant  Department  of 
Public  Journalism.  Lahore  District.  [1886.] 

PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS.  By  Iludyard  Kipling,  author 
of  "  Departmental  Ditties  and  Other  Verses."  1888. 

SOLDIERS  THREE,  A  Collection  of  Stories  Setting  Forth  Certain 
Passages  in  the  Lives  and  Adventures  of  Private  Terence 
Mulvaney,  Stanley  Ortheris.  and  John  Learoyd.  1888. 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  GADSBYS.     [1888.] 

IN  BLACK  AND  WHITE.     [1888.] 

UNDER  THE  DEODARS.     1888. 

THE  PHANTOM  'RICKSHAW  AND  OTHER  TALES.     [1888.] 

WEE  WILLIE  WINKIE  AND  OTHER  STORIES.     [1888.] 

DEPARTMENTAL  DITTIES  AND  OTHER  VERSES.  By  Iludyard 
Kipling.  1891. 

THE  CITY  OF  DREADFUL  NIGHT  AND  OTHER  PLACES.     [1891.] 

LIFE'S  HANDICAP,  BEING  STORIES  OF  MINE  OWN  PEOPLE. 
1891. 

LETTERS  OF  MARQUE.     1891. 

TFIE  LIGHT  THAT  FAILED.     1891. 

THE  NAULAHKA  :  A  STORY  OF  WEST  AND  EAST.  By  Iludyard 
Kipling  and  Wolcott  Balestier.  1892. 

BALLADS  AND  BARRACK-ROOM  BALLADS.     1892. 

MANY  INVENTIONS.     189-3. 

THE  JUNGLE  BOOK.     By  Rudyard  Kipling.     1894. 

THE  SECOND  JUNGLE  BOOK.     1895. 

THE  SEVEN  SEAS.     1896. 

CAPTAINS  COURAGEOUS.     1897. 

THE  DAY'S  WORK.     1898. 

A  FLEET  IN  BEING.     London.     1899. 

FROM  SEA  TO  SEA.  Letters  of  Travel,  including  Letters  ot 
Marque,  City  of  Dreadful  Night,  and  The  Smith  Admin- 
istration. New  York.  1899. 


LISPETH 

Look,  you  have  cast  out  Love  !    What  Gods  are  these 

You  bid  me  please  ? 
The  Three  in  One,  the  One  in  Three  ?    Not  so  ! 

To  my  own  Gods  I  go. 
It  may  be  they  shall  give  me  greater  ease 
Than  your  cold  Christ  and  tangled  Trinities. 

—  The  Convert. 

SHE  was  the  daughter  of  Sonoo,  a  Hill-man  of  the 
Himalayas,  and  Jadeh  his  wife.  One  year  their  maize 
failed,  and  two  bears  spent  the  night  in  their  only 
opium  poppy-field  just  above  the  Sutlej  Valley  on  the 
Kotgarh  side ;  so,  next  season,  they  turned  Christian, 
and  brought  their  baby  to  the  Mission  to  be  baptized. 
The  Kotgarh  Chaplain  christened  her  Elizabeth,  and 
'  Lispeth '  is  the  Hill  or  pahari  pronunciation. 

Later,  cholera  came  into  the  Kotgarh  Valley  and 
carried  off  Sonoo  and  Jadeh,  and  Lispeth  became  half 
servant,  half  companion,  to  the  wife  of  the  then  Chap- 
lain of  Kotgarh.  This  was  after  the  reign  of  the 
Moravian  missionaries  in  that  place,  but  before  Kot- 
garh had  quite  forgotten  her  title  of  '  Mistress  of  the 
Northern  Hills.' 

Whether  Christianity  improved  Lispeth,  or  whether 
the  gods  of  her  own  people  would  have  done  as  much 
for  her  under  any  circumstances,  I  do  not  know  ;  but 

B  1 


2  PLAIN    TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

she  grew  very  lovely.  When  a  Hill-girl  grows  lovely, 
she  is  worth  travelling  fifty  miles  over  bad  ground  to 
look  upon.  Lispeth  had  a  Greek  face  —  one  of  those 
faces  people  paint  so  often,  and  see  so  seldom.  She 
was  of  a  pale,  ivory  colour,  and,  for  her  race,  extremely 
tall.  Also,  she  possessed  eyes  that  were  wonderful ; 
and,  had  she  not  been  dressed  in  the  abominable  print- 
cloths  affected  by  Missions,  you  would,  meeting  her  on 
the  hillside  unexpectedly,  have  thought  her  the  original 
Diana  of  the  Romans  going  out  to  slay. 

Lispeth  took  to  Christianity  readily,  and  did  not 
abandon  it  when  she  reached  womanhood,  as  do  some 
Hill-girls.  Her  own  people  hated  her  because  she  had, 
they  said,  become  a  white  woman  and  washed  herself 
daily ;  and  the  Chaplain's  wife  did  not  know  what  to 
do  with  her.  One  cannot  ask  a  stately  goddess,  five 
foot  ten  in  her  shoes,  to  clean  plates  and  dishes.  She 
played  with  the  Chaplain's  children  and  took  classes 
in  the  Sunday  School,  and  read  all  the  books  in 
the  house,  and  grew  more  and  more  beautiful,  like 
the  Princesses  in  fairy  tales.  The  Chaplain's  wife 
said  that  the  girl  ought  to  take  service  in  Simla 
as  a  nurse  or  something  'genteel.'  But  Lispeth  did 
not  want  to  take  service.  She  was  very  happy  where 
she  was. 

When  travellers  —  there  were  not  many  in  those 
years  —  came  in  to  Kotgarh,  Lispeth  used  to  lock  her- 
self into  her  own  room  for  fear  they  might  take  her 
away  to  Simla,  or  out  into  the  unknown  world. 

One  day,  a  few  months  after  she  was  seventeen  years 
old,  Lispeth  went  out  for  a  walk.  She  did  not  walk  in 
the  manner  of  English  ladies — a  mile  and  a  half  out, 
with  a  carriage-ride  back  again.  She  covered  between 


USPETH  3 

twenty  and  thirty  miles  in  her  little  constitutionals, 
all  about  and  about,  between  Kotgarh  and  Narkunda. 
This  time  she  came  back  at  full  dusk,  stepping  down 
the  breakneck  descent  into  Kotgarh  with  something 
heavy  in  her  arms.  The  Chaplain's  wife  was  dozing 
in  the  drawing-room  when  Lispeth  came  in  breathing 
heavily  and  very  exhausted  with  her  burden.  Lispeth 
put  it  down  on  the  sofa,  and  said  simply,  'This  is 
my  husband.  I  found  him  on  the  Bagi  Road.  He 
has  hurt  himself.  We  will  nurse  him,  and  when  he 
is  well,  your  husband  shall  marry  him  to  me.' 

This  was  the  first  mention  Lispeth  had  ever  made 
of  her  matrimonial  views,  and  the  Chaplain's  wife 
shrieked  with  horror.  However,  the  man  on  the  sofa 
needed  attention  first.  He  was  a  young  Englishman, 
and  his  head  had  been  cut  to  the  bone  by  something 
jagged.  Lispeth  said  she  had  found  him  down  the 
hillside,  and  had  brought  him  in.  He  was  breathing 
queerly  and  was  unconscious. 

He  was  put  to  bed  and  tended  by  the  Chaplain, 
who  knew  something  of  medicine  ;  and  Lispeth  waited 
outside  the  door  in  case  she  could  be  useful.  She 
explained  to  the  Chaplain  that  this  was  the  man  she 
meant  to  marry  ;  and  the  Chaplain  arid  his  wife  lectured 
her  severely  on  the  impropriety  of  her  conduct.  Lispeth 
listened  quietly,  and  repeated  her  first  proposition.  It 
takes  a  grea-fc  deal  of  Christianity  to  wipe  out  uncivilised 
Eastern  instincts,  such  as  falling  in  love  at  first  sight. 
Lispeth,  having  found  the  man  she  worshipped,  did 
not  see  why  she  should  keep  silent  as  to  her  choice. 
She  had  no  intention  of  being  sent  away,  either.  She 
was  going  to  nurse  that  Englishman  until  he  was  well 
enough  to  marry  her.  This  was  her  programme. 


4  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

After  a  fortnight  of  slight  fever  and  inflammation, 
the  Englishman  recovered  coherence  and  thanked  the 
Chaplain  and  his  wife,  and  Lispeth  —  especially  Lispeth 

—  for  their  kindness.     He  was  a  traveller  in  the  East, 
he  said  —  they  never  talked  about  '  globe-trotters '  in 
those  clays,  when  the  P.  &  O.  fleet  was  young  and  small 

—  and  had  come  from  Dehra  Dun  to  hunt  for  plants 
and  butterflies  among  the  Simla  hills.    No  one  at  Simla, 
therefore,  knew  anything  about  him.      He  fancied  that 
he  must  have  fallen  over  the  cliff  while  reaching  out 
for  a  fern  on  a  rotten  tree-trunk,  and  that  his  coolies 
must  have  stolen  his  baggage  and  fled.     He  thought  he 
would  go  back  to  Simla  when  he  was  a  little  stronger. 
He  desired  no  more  mountaineering. 

He  made  small  haste  to  go  away,  and  recovered  his 
strength  slowty.  Lispeth  objected  to  being  advised 
either  by  the  Chaplain  or  his  wife  ;  therefore  the  latter 
spoke  to  the  Englishman,  and  told  him  how  matters 
stood  in  Lispeth's  heart.  He  laughed  a  good  deal, 
and  said  it  was  very  pretty  and  romantic,  but,  as 
he  was  engaged  to  a  girl  at  Home,  he  fancied  that 
nothing  would  happen.  Certainly  he  would  behave 
with  discretion.  He  did  that.  Still  he  found  it 
very  pleasant  to  talk  to  Lispeth,  and  walk  with 
Lispeth  and  say  nice  things  to  her,  and  call  her  pet 
names,  while  he  was  getting  strong  enough  to  go 
away.  It  meant  nothing  at  all  to  him,  and  everything 
in  the  world  to  Lispeth.  She  was  very  happy  while 
the  fortnight  lasted,  because  she  had  found  a  man  to 
love. 

Being  a  savage  by  birth,  she  took  no  trouble  to 
hide  her  feelings,  and  the  Englishman  was  amused. 
When  he  went  away,  Lispeth  walked  with  Mm  up  the 


LISPETH  5 

Hill  as  far  as  Narkunda,  very  troubled  and  very 
miserable.  The  Chaplain's  wife,  being  a  good 
Christian  and  disliking  anything  in  the  shape  of  fuss 
or  scandal,  —  Lispeth  was  beyond  her  management 
entirely,  — had  told  the  Englishman  to  tell  Lispeth  that 
he  was  coming  back  to  marry  her.  '  She  is  but  a 
child  you  know,  and,  I  fear,  at  heart  a  heathen,'  said 
the  Chaplain's  wife.  So  all  the  twelve  miles  up  the 
Hill  the  Englishman,  with  his  arm  round  Lispeth's 
waist,  was  assuring  the  girl  that  he  would  come  back 
and  marry  her  ;  and  Lispeth  made  him  promise  over 
and  over  again.  She  wept  on  the  Narkunda  Ridge  till 
lie  had  passed  out  of  sight  along  the  Muttiani  path. 

Then  she  dried  her  tears  and  went  in  to  Kotgarh 
again,  and  said  to  the  Chaplain's  wife,  '  He  will  come 
back  and  marry  me.  He  has  gone  to  his  own  people 
to  tell  them  so.'  And  the  Chaplain's  wife  soothed 
Lispeth  and  said,  'He  will  come  back.'  At  the  end 
of  two  months,  Lispeth  grew  impatient,  and  was  told 
that  the  Englishman  had  gone  over  the  seas  to  England. 
She  knew  where  England  was,  because  she  had  read 
little  geography  primers  ;  but,  of  course,  she  had  no 
conception  of  the  nature  of  the  sea,  being  a  Hill-girl. 
There  was  an  old  puzzle-map  of  the  World  in  the 
house.  Lispeth  had  played  with  it  when  she  was  a 
child.  She  unearthed  it  again,  and  put  it  together  of 
evenings,  and  cried  to  herself,  and  tried  to  imagine 
where  her  Englishman  was.  As  she  had  no  ideas  of 
distance  or  steamboats,  her  notions  were  somewhat 
wild.  It  would  not  have  made  the  least  difference 
had  she  been  perfectly  correct;  for  the  Englishman 
had  no  intention  of  coming  back  to  marry  a  Hill-girl. 
He  forgot  all  about  her  by  the  time  he  was  butterfly 


6  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

hunting  in  Assam.  He  wrote  a  book  on  the  East 
afterwards.  Lispeth's  name  did  not  appear  there. 

At  the  end  of  three  months,  Lispeth  made  daily 
pilgrimage  to  Narkunda  to  see  if  her  Englishman  was 
coming  along  the  road.  It  gave  her  comfort,  and  the 
Chaplain's  wife  finding  her  happier  thought  that  she 
was  getting  over  her  'barbarous  and  most  indelicate 
folly.'  A  little  later,  the  walks  ceased  to  help  Lispeth 
and  her  temper  grew  very  bad.  The  Chaplain's  wife 
thought  this  a  profitable  time  to  let  her  know  the  real 
state  of  affairs  —  that  the  Englishman  had  only  pro- 
mised his  love  to  keep  her  quiet — that  he  had  never 
meant  anything,  and  that  it  was  wrong  and  improper 
of  Lispeth  to  think  of  marriage  with  an  Englishman, 
who  was  of  a  superior  clay,  besides  being  promised  in 
marriage  to  a  girl  of  his  own  people.  Lispeth  said 
that  all  this  was  clearly  impossible  because  he  had 
said  he  loved  her,  and  the  Chaplain's  wife  had,  with 
her  own  lips,  asserted  that  the  Englishman  was  coming 
back. 

'  How  can  what  he  and  you  said  be  untrue  ? '  asked 
Lispeth. 

'  We  said  it  as  an  excuse  to  keep  you  quiet, 
child,'  said  the  Chaplain's  wife. 

'  Then  you  have  lied  to  me,'  said  Lispeth,  '  you  and 
he?' 

The  Chaplain's  wife  bowed  her  head,  and  said 
nothing.  Lispeth  was  silent,  too,  for  a  little  time; 
then  she  went  out  down  the  valley,  and  returned  in  the 
dress  of  a  Hill-girl  —  infamously  dirty,  but  without  the 
nose-stud  and  ear-rings.  She  had  her  hair  braided  into 
the  long  pigtail,  helped  out  with  black  thread,  that  Hill- 
women  wear. 


LISPETH  T 

*  I  am  going  back  to  my  own  people,'  said  she. 
'You  have  killed  Lispeth.  There  is  only  left  old 
Jadeh's  daughter  —  the  daughter  of  a  pahari  and 
the  servant  of  Tarka  Devi.  You  are  all  liars,  you 
English.' 

By  the  time  that  the  Chaplain's  wife  had  recovered 
from  the  shock  of  the  announcement  that  Lispeth  had 
'verted  to  her  mother's  gods,  the  girl  had  gone  ;  and  she 
never  came  back. 

She  took  to  her  own  unclean  people  savagely,  as 
if  to  make  up  the  arrears  of  the  life  she  had  stepped 
out  of  ;  and,  in  a  little  time,  she  married  a  woodcutter 
who  beat  her  after  the  manner  of  paharis,  and  her 
beauty  faded  soon. 

'  There  is  no  law  whereby  you  can  account  for  the 
vagaries  of  the  heathen,'  said  the  Chaplain's  wife,  '  and 
I  believe  that  Lispeth  was  always  at  heart  an  infidel.' 
Seeing  she  had  been  taken  into  the  Church  of  England 
at  the  mature  age  of  five  weeks,  this  statement  does 
not  do  credit  to  the  Chaplain's  wife. 

Lispeth  was  a  very  old  woman  when  she  died. 
She  had  always  a  perfect  command  of  English,  and 
when  she  was  sufficiently  drunk,  could  sometimes  be 
induced  to  tell  the  story  of  her  first  love-affair. 

It  was  hard  then  to  realise  that  the  bleared, 
wrinkled  creature,  exactly  like  a  wisp  of  charred  rag, 
could  ever  have  been  '  Lispeth  of  the  Kotgarh  Mission.' 


THREE  AND AN  EXTRA 

When  halter  and  heel-ropes  are  slipped,  do  not  give  chase  with 
sticks  but  with  gram.  —  Punjabi  Proverb. 

AFTER  marriage  arrives  a  reaction,  sometimes  a  big, 
sometimes  a  little  one;  but  it  comes  sooner  or  later, 
and  must  be  tided  over  by  both  parties  if  they  desire 
the  rest  of  their  lives  to  go  with  the  current. 

With  the  Cusack-Bremmils  this  reaction  did  not 
set  in  till  the  third  year  after  the  wedding.  Bremmil 
was  hard  to  hold  at  the  best  of  times  ;  but  he  was 
a  good  husband  until  the  baby  died  and  Mrs.  Bremmil 
wore  black,  and  grew  thin,  and  mourned  as  though 
the  bottom  of  the  Universe  had  fallen  out.  Perhaps 
Bremmil  ought  to  have  comforted  her.  He  tried  to  do 
so,  but  the  more  he  comforted,  the  more  Mrs.  Bremmil 
grieved,  and,  consequently,  the  more  uncomfortable 
grew  Bremmil.  The  fact  was  that  they  both  needed 
a  tonic.  And  they  got  it.  Mrs.  Bremmil  can  afford 
to  laugh  now,  but  it  was  no  laughing  matter  to  her  at 
the  time. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  appeared  on  the  horizon  ;  and 
where  she  existed  was  fair  chance  of  trouble.  At 
Simla  her  by-name  was  the  'Stormy  Petrel.'  She 
had  won  that  title  five  times  to  my  own  certain 
knowledge.  She  was  a  little,  brown,  thin,  almost 

8 


THREE  AND AN  EXTRA  9 

skinny,  woman,  with  big,  rolling',  violet-blue  eyes,  and 
the  sweetest  manners  in  the  world.  You  had  only  to 
mention  her  name  at  afternoon  teas  for  every  woman 
in  the  room  to  rise  up,  and  call  her  not  blessed.  She 
was  clever,  witty,  brilliant,  and  sparkling  beyond  most 
of  her  kind  ;  but  possessed  of  many  devils  of  malice 
and  mischievousness.  She  could  be  nice,  though,  even 
to  her  own  sex.  But  that  is  another  story. 

Bremmil  went  off  at  score  after  the  baby's  death 
and  the  general  discomfort  that  followed,  and  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  annexed  him.  She  took  no  pleasure  in 
hiding  her  captives.  She  annexed  him  publicly,  and 
saw  that  the  public  saw  it.  TIe  rode  with  her,  and 
walked  with  her,  and  talked  \\  ith  her,  and  picnicked 
with  her,  and  tiffined  at  Peliti's  with  her,  till  people 
put  up  their  eyebrows  and  said,  '  Shocking  !  '  Mrs. 
Bremmil  stayed  at  home  turning  over  the  dead  baby's 
frocks  and  crying  into  the  empty  cradle.  She  did  not 
care  to  do  anything  else.  But  some  eight  dear, 
affectionate  lady-friends  explained  the  situation  at 
length  to  her  in  case  she  should  miss  the  cream  of  it. 
Mrs.  Bremmil  listened  quietry,  and  thanked  them  for 
their  good  oifices.  She  Avas  not  as  clever  as  Mrs. 
Hauksbee,  but  she  was  no  fool.  She  kept  her  own 
counsel,  and  did  not  speak  to  Bremmil  of  what  she 
had  heard.  This  is  worth  remembering.  Speaking 
to,  or  crying  over,  a  husband  never  did  any  good 
yet- 
When  Bremmil  was  at  home,  which  was  not  often, 
he  was  more  affectionate  than  usual;  and  that  showed 
his  hand.  The  affection  was  forced  partly  to  soothe 
his  own  conscience  and  partly  to  soothe  Mrs.  Bremmil. 
It  failed  in  both  regards. 


10  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

Then  '  the  A.-D.-C.  in  Waiting  was  commanded  by 
Their  Excellencies,  Lord  and  Lady  Lytton,  to  invite 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cusack-Bremmil  to  Peterhoff  on  July 
26  and  9-30  P.M.'  —  'Dancing'  in  the  bottom -left-hand 
corner. 

'  I  can't  go,'  said  Mrs.  Bremmil,  '  it  is  too  soon 
after  poor  little  Florrie  .  .  .  but  it  need  not  stop 
you,  Tom.' 

She  meant  what  she  said  then,  and  Bremmil  said 
that  he  would  go  just  to  put  in  an  appearance.  Here 
he  spoke  the  thing  which  was  not;  and  Mrs.  Bremmil 
knew  it.  She  guessed  —  a  woman's  guess  is  much 
more  accurate  than  a  man's  certainty  —  that  he  had 
meant  to  go  from  the  first,  and  with  Mrs.  Hauksbee. 
She  sat  down  to  think,  and  the  outcome  of  her  thoughts 
was  that  the  memory  of  a  dead  child  was  worth 
considerably  less  than  the  affections  of  a  living 
husband.  She  made  her  plan  and  staked  her  all 
upon  it.  In  that  hour  she  discovered  that  she  knew 
Tom  Bremmil  thoroughly,  and  this  knowledge  she 
acted  on. 

'  Tom,'  said  she,  '  I  shall  be  dining  out  at  the 
Longmores'  ou  the  evening  of  the  26th.  You'd  better 
dine  at  the  Club.' 

This  saved  Bremmil  from  making  an  excuse  to  get 
away  and  dine  with  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  so  he  was  grateful, 
and  felt  small  and  mean  at  the  same  time  —  which  was 
wholesome.  Bremmil  left  the  house  at  five  for  a  ride. 
About  half-past  five  in  the  evening  a  large  leather- 
covered  basket  came  in  from  Phelps's  for  Mrs.  Bremmil. 
She  was  a  woman  who  knew  how  to  dress ;  and  she 
had  not  spent  a  week  on  designing  that  dress  and 
having  it  gored,  and  hemmed,  and  herring-boned,  and 


THREE  AND AN  EXTRA  11 

tucked  and  rucked  (or  whatever  the  terms  are),  for 
nothing.  It  was  a  gorgeous  dress  —  slight  mourning. 
I  can't  describe  it,  but  it  was  what  The  Queen  calls  '  a 
creation '  —  a  thing  that  hit  you  straight  between  the 
eyes  and  made  you  gasp.  She  had  not  much  heart 
for  what  she  was  going  to  do ;  but  as  she  glanced  at 
the  long  mirror,  she  had  the  satisfaction  of  knowing 
that  she  had  never  looked  so  well  in  her  life.  She 
was  a  large  blonde  and,  when  she  chose,  carried  herself 
superbly. 

After  the  dinner  at  the  Longmores',  she  went  on  to 
the  dance  —  a  little  late  —  and  encountered  Bremmil 
with  Mrs.  Hauksbee  on  his  arm.  That  made  her 
flush,  and  as  the  men  crowded  round  her  for  dances 
she  looked  magnificent.  She  filled  up  all  her  dances 
except  three,  and  those  she  left  blank.  Mrs.  Hauksbee 
caught  her  eye  once  ;  and  she  knew  it  was  war  —  real 
war  —  between  them.  She  started  handicapped  in  the 
struggle,  for  she  had  ordered  Bremmil  about  just  the 
least  little  bit  in  the  world  too  much ;  and  he  was 
beginning  to  resent  it.  Moreover,  he  had  never  seen 
his  wife  look  so  lovely.  He  stared  at  her  from  door- 
ways, and  glared  at  her  from  passages  as  she  went 
about  with  her  partners ;  and  the  more  he  stared,  the 
more  taken  was  he.  He  could  scarcely  believe  that 
this  was  the  woman  with  the  red  eyes  and  the  black 
stuff  gown  who  used  to  weep  over  the  eggs  at  break- 
fast. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  did  her  best  to  hold  him  in  play, 
but,  after  two  dances,  he  crossed  over  to  his  wife  and 
asked  for  a  dance. 

'I'm  afraid  you've  come  too  late,  Mister  Bremmil,' 
she  said,  with  her  eyes  twinkling. 


12  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

Then  he  begged  her  to  give  him  a  dance,  and,  as  a 
great  favour,  she  allowed  him  the  fifth  waltz.  Luckily 
Five  stood  vacant  on  his  programme.  They  danced  it 
together,  and  there  was  a  little  flutter  round  the  room. 
Bremmil  had  a  sort  of  a  notion  that  his  wife  could 
dance,  but  he  never  knew  she  danced  so  divinely.  At 
the  end  of  that  waltz  he  asked  for  another  —  as  a  favour, 
not  as  a  right ;  and  Mrs.  Bremmil  said,  '  Show  me 
your  programme,  dear ! '  He  showed  it  as  a  naughty 
little  schoolboy  hands  up  contraband  sweets  to  a  master. 
There  was  a  fair  sprinkling  of  '  H  '  on  it,  besides  '  H  ' 
at  supper.  Mrs.  Bremmil  said  nothing,  but  she  smiled 
contemptuously,  ran  her  pencil  through  Seven  and  Nine 
—  two  '  H's  '  —  and  returned  the  card  with  her  own  name 
written  above  —  a  pet  name  that  only  she  and  her  hus- 
band used.  Then  she  shook  her  finger  at  him,  and  said 
laughing,  '  Oh,  you  silly,  silly  boy  !  ' 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  heard  that,  and  —  she  owned  as  much 

—felt  she  had  the  worst  of  it.      Bremmil  accepted  Seven 

and  Nine  gratefully.     They  danced  Seven,  and  sat  out 

Nine  in  one  of  the  little  tents.     What  Bremmil  said 

and  what  Mrs.  Bremmil  did  is  no  concern  of  any  one. 

When  the  band  struck  up  '  The  Roast  Beef  of  Old 
England,'  the  two  went  out  into  the  verandah,  and 
Bremmil  began  looking  for  his  wife's  dandy  (this  was 
before  'rickshaw  days)  while  she  went  into  the  cloak- 
room. Mrs.  Hauksbee  came  up  and  said,  '  You  take 
me  in  to  supper,  I  think,  Mr.  Bremmil  ? '  Bremmil 
turned  red  and  looked  foolish,  'All  —  h'm  !  I'm  going 
home  with  my  wife,  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  I  think  there 
has  been  a  little  mistake.'  Being  a  man,  lie  spoke  as 
\hough  Mrs.  Hauksbee  were  entirely  responsible. 

Mrs.    Bremmil   came    out    of    the    cloak-room    in    a 


THREE  AND AN  EXTRA  13 

swansdown  cloak  with  a  white  v  cloud '  round  her  head. 
She  looked  radiant ;  and  she  had  a  right  to. 

The  couple  went  off  into  the  darkness  together, 
Bremmil  riding  very  close  to  the  dandy. 

Then  said  Mrs.  Hauksbee  to  me  —  she  looked  a  trifle 
faded  and  jaded  in  the  lamplight  — '  Take  my  word 
for  it,  the  silliest  woman  can  manage  a  clever  man  ; 
but  it  needs  a  very  clever  womao  to  manage  a  fool." 

Then  we  went  in  to  suppei. 


THROWN   AWAY 

And  some  are  sulky,  while  some  will  plunge. 

[So  ho  I    Steady  !    Stand  still,  you  /] 
Some  you  must  gentle,  and  some  you  must  lunge. 

[There  !     There  !     Who  wants  to  kill  you?] 
Some  —  there  are  losses  in  every  trade  — 
Will  break  their  hearts  ere  bitted  and  made, 
Will  fight  like  fiends  as  the  rope  cuts  hard, 
And  die  dumb-mad  in  the  breaking-yard. 

—  Toolungala  Stockyard  Chorus. 

To  rear  a  boy  under  what  parents  call  the  '  sheltered 
life  system '  is,  if  the  boy  must  go  into  the  world  and 
fend  for  himself,  not  wise.  Unless  he  be  one  in  a 
thousand  he  has  certainly  to  pass  through  many  un- 
necessary troubles  ;  and  may,  possibly,  come  to  extreme 
grief  simply  from  ignorance  of  the  proper  proportions 
of  things. 

Let  a  puppy  eat  the  soap  in  the  bath-room  or  chew 
a  newly  blacked  boot.  He  chews  and  chuckles  until, 
by  and  by,  he  finds  out  that  blacking  and  Old  Brown 
Windsor  make  him  very  sick;  so  he  argues  that  soap 
and  boots  are  not  wholesome.  Any  old  dog  about  the 
house  will  soon  show  him  the  unwisdom  of  biting  big 
dogs'  ears.  Being  young,  he  remembers  and  goes 
abroad,  at  six  months,  a  well-mannered  little  beast 
with  a  chastened  appetite.  If  he  had  been  kept  away 

14 


THROWN  AWAY  15 

from  boots,  and  soap,  and  big  dogs  till  he  came  to  tbe 
trinity  full-grown  and  with  developed  teeth,  consider 
how  fearfully  sick  and  thrashed  he  would  be  !  Apply 
that  notion  to  the  'sheltered  life,'  and  see  how  it 
works.  It  does  not  sound  pretty,  but  it  is  the  bet- 
ter of  two  evils. 

There  was  a  Boy  once  who  had  been  brought  up 
under  the  'sheltered  life'  theory;  and  the  theory 
killed  him  dead.  He  stayed  with  his  people  all  his 
days,  from  the  hour  he  was  born  till  the  hour  he 
went  into  Sandhurst  nearly  at  the  top  of  the  list.  He 
was  beautifully  taught  in  all  that  wins  marks  by  a 
private  tutor,  and  carried  the  extra  weight  of  '  never 
having  given  his  parents  an  hour's  anxiety  in  his  life.' 
What  he  learnt  at  Sandhurst  beyond  the  regular  rou- 
tine is  of  no  great  consequence.  He  looked  about  him, 
and  he  found  soap  and  blacking,  so  to  speak,  very  good. 
He  ate  a  little,  and  came  out  of  Sandhurst  not  so  high 
as  he  went  in.  Then  there  was  an  interval  and  a  scene 
with  his  people,  who  expected  much  from  him.  Next 
a  year  of  living  unspotted  from  the  world  in  a  third- 
rate  depot  battalion,  where  all  the  juniors  were  chil- 
dren and  all  the  seniors  old  women ;  and  lastly  he 
came  out  to  India,  where  he  was  cut  off  from  the  sup- 
port of  his  parents,  and  had  no  one  to  fall  back  on  in 
time  of  trouble  except  himself. 

Now  India  is  a  place  beyond  all  others  where  one 
must  not  take  things  too  seriously  —  the  mid-day  sun 
always  excepted.  Too  much  work  and  too  much  en- 
ergy kill  a  man  just  as  effectively  as  too  much  assorted 
vice  or  too  much  drink.  Flirtation  does  not  matter,  be- 
cause every  one  is  being  transferred  and  either  you  or 
she  leave  the  Station,  and  never  return.  Good  work 


16 

does  not  matter,  because  a  man  is  judged  by  his  worst 
output  and  another  man  takes  all  the  credit  of  his  best 
as  a  rule.  Bad  work  does  not  matter,  because  other 
men  do  worse  and  incompetents  hang  on  longer  in  India 
than  anywhere  else.  Amusements  do  not  matter,  be- 
cause you  must  repeat  them  as  soon  as  you  have  accom- 
plished them  once,  and  most  amusements  only  mean 
trying  to  win  another  person's  money.  Sickness  does 
not  matter,  because  it's  all  in  the  day's  work,  and  if 
you  die,  another  man  takes  over  your  place  and  your 
office  in  the  eight  hours  between  death  and  burial. 
Nothing  matters  except  Home-furlough  and  acting 
allowances,  and  these  only  because  they  are  scarce. 
It  is  a  slack  country,  where  all  men  work  with 
imperfect  instruments  ;  and  the  wisest  thing  is  to 
escape  as  soon  as  ever  you  can  to  some  place  where 
amusement  is  amusement  and  a  reputation  worth  the 
having. 

But  this  Boy  —  the  tale  is  as  old  as  the  Hills  —  came 
out,  and  took  all  things  seriously.  He  was  pretty  and 
was  petted.  He  took  the  pettings  seriously  and  fretted 
over  women  not  worth  saddling  a  pony  to  call  upon. 
He  found  his  new  free  life  in  India  very  good.  It  does 
look  attractive  in  the  beginning,  from  a  subaltern's 
point  of  view  —  all  ponies,  partners,  dancing,  and  so  on. 
He  tasted  it  as  the  puppy  tastes  the  soap.  Only  he 
came  late  to  the  eating,  with  a  grown  set  of  teeth.  He 
had  no  sense  of  balance  —  just  like  the  puppy  —  and 
could  not  understand  why  he  was  not  treated  with  the 
consideration  he  received  under  his  father's  roof.  This 
hurt  his  feelings. 

He  quarrelled  with  other  boys  and,  being  sensitive 
to  the  marrow,  remembered  these  quarrels,  and  they 


THROWN  AWAY  17 

excited  him.  He  found  whist  and  gymkhanas,  and 
things  of  that  kind  (meant  to  amuse  one  after  office) 
good ;  but  he  took  them  seriously  too,  just  as  seriously 
as  he  took  the  '  head '  that  followed  after  drink.  He 
lost  his  money  over  whist  and  gymkhanas  because  they 
were  new  to  him. 

He  took  his  losses  seriously,  and  wasted  as  much 
energy  and  interest  over  a  two-goldmohur  race  for 
maiden  ekka-pouies  with  their  manes  hogged,  as  if  it 
had  been  the  Derby.  One  half  of  this  came  from 
inexperience  —  much  as  the  puppy  squabbles  with  the 
corner  of  the  hearthrug  —  and  the  other  half  from  the 
dizziness  bred  by  stumbling  out  of  his  quiet  life  into 
the  glare  and  excitement  of  a  livelier  one.  No  one 
told  him  about  the  soap  and  the  blacking,  because  an 
average  man  takes  it  for  granted  that  an  average  man 
is  ordinarily  careful  in  regard  to  them.  It  was  pitiful 
to  watch  The  Boy  knocking  himself  to  pieces,  as  an 
over-handled  colt  falls  down  and  cuts  himself  when  he 
gets  away  from  the  groom. 

This  unbridled  license  in  amusements  not  worth  the 
trouble  of  breaking  line  for,  much  less  rioting  over, 
endured  for  six  months  —  all  through  one  cold  weather 
—  and  then  we  thought  that  the  heat  and  the  know- 
ledge of  having  lost  his  money  and  health  and  lamed 
his  horses  would  sober  The  Boy  down,  and  he  would 
stand  steady.  In  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred 
this  would  have  happened.  You  can  see  the  principle 
working  in  any  Indian  Station.  But  this  particular 
case  fell  through  because  The  Boy  was  sensitive  and 
took  tilings  seriously  —  as  I  may  have  said  some  seven 
times  before.  Of  course,  we  could  not  tell  how  his  ex- 
cesses struck  him  personally.  They  were  nothing  very 


18  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

heartbreaking  or  above  the  average.  He  might  be 
crippled  for  life  financially,  and  want  a  little  nursing. 
Still  the  memory  of  his  performances  would  wither 
away  in  one  hot  weather,  and  the  bankers  would  help 
him  to  tide  over  the  money-troubles.  But  he  must 
have  taken  another  view  altogether  and  have  believed 
himself  ruined  beyond  redemption.  His  Colonel  talked 
to  him  severely  when  the  cold  weather  ended.  That 
made  him  more  wretched  than  ever ;  and  it  was  only 
an  ordinary  '  Colonel's  wigging ' ! 

What  follows  is  a  curious  instance  of  the  fashion  in 
which  we  are  all  linked  together  and  made  responsible 
for  one  another.  The  thing  that  kicked  the  beam  in 
The  Boy's  mind  was  a  remark  that  a  woman  made 
when  he  was  talking  to  her.  There  is  no  use  in  re- 
peating it,  for  it  was  only  a  cruel  little  sentence, 
rapped  out  before  thinking,  that  made  him  flush  to 
the  roots  of  his  hair.  He  kept  himself  to  himself  for 
three  days,  and  then  put  in  for  two  days'  leave  to  go 
shooting  near  a  Canal  Engineer's  Rest  House  about 
thirty  miles  out.  He  got  his  leave,  and  that  night  at 
Mess  was  noisier  and  more  offensive  than  ever.  He 
said  that  he  was  'going  to  shoot  big  game,'  and  left  at 
half-past  ten  o'clock  in  an  ekka.  Partridge  —  which 
was  the  only  thing  a  man  could  get  near  the  Rest 
House  —  is  not  big  game  ;  so  every  one  laughed. 

Next  morning  one  of  the  Majors  came  in  from  short 
leave  and  heard  that  The  Boy  had  gone  out  to  shoot 
'big  game.'  The  Major  had  taken  an  interest  in  The 
Boy,  and  had,  more  than  once,  tried  to  check  him. 
The  Major  put  up  his  eyebrows  when  he  heard  of 
the  expedition,  and  went  to  The  Boy's  rooms,  where 
he  rummaged. 


THROWN  AWAY  19 

Presently  he  came  out  and  found  me  leaving  cards 
on  the  Mess.  There  was  no  one  else  in  the  ante-room. 

He  said,  '  The  Boy  has  gone  out  shooting.  Does  a 
man  shoot  tetur  with  a  revolver  and  writing-case  ?  ' 

I  said,  '  Nonsense,  Major  ! '  for  I  saw  what  was  in 
his  mind. 

He  said,  'Nonsense  or  no  nonsense,  I'm  going  to 
the  Canal  now  —  at  once.  I  don't  feel  easy.' 

Then  he  thought  for  a  minute,  and  said,  '  Can  you 
lie?' 

4  You  know  best,'  I  answered.     '  It's  my  profession.' 

'Very  well,'  said  the  Major,  'you  must  come  out 
with  me  now  —  at  once  —  in  an  ekka  to  the  Canal  to 
shoot  black-buck.  Go  and  put  on  s/iz&ar-kit  —  quick 

—  and  drive  here  with  a  gun.' 

The  Major  was  a  masterful  man ;  and  I  knew  that 
he  would  not  give  orders  for  nothing.  So  I  obeyed, 
and  on  return  found  the  Major  packed  up  in  an  ekka 

—  gun-cases  and  food  slung  below  —  all  ready  for  a 
shooting-trip. 

He  dismissed  the  driver  and  drove  himself.  We 
jogged  along  quietly  while  in  the  station  ;  but,  as  soon 
as  we  got  to  the  dusty  road  across  the  plains,  he  made 
that  pony  fly.  A  country-bred  can  do  nearly  anything 
at  a  pinch.  We  covered  the  thirty  miles  in  under 
three  hours,  but  the  poor  brute  was  nearly  dead. 

Once  I  said,  'What's  the  blazing  huny,  Major?' 

He  said  quietly,  '  The  Boy  has  been  alone,  by 
himself  for  —  one,  two,  five,  —  fourteen  hours  now!  I 
tell  you,  I  don't  feel  easy.' 

This  uneasiness  spread  itself  to  me,  and  I  helped 
to  beat  the  pony. 

When  we  came  to  the  Canal  Engineer's  Rest  House 


20  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THEOHLLS 

the  Major  called  for  The  Boy's  servant ;  but  there  was 
no  answer.  Then  we  went  up  to  the  house,  calling  for 
The.  Boy  by  name ;  but  there  was  no  answer. 

'  Oh,  he's  out  shooting,'  said  I. 

Just  then,  I  saw  through  one  of  the  windows  a  little 
hurricane-lamp  burning.  This  was  at  four  in  the  after- 
noon. We  both  stopped  dead  in  the  verandah,  holding 
our  breath  to  catch  every  sound ;  and  we  heard,  inside 
the  room,  the  '  brr  —  brr  —  brr '  of  a  multitude  of  flies. 
The  Major  said  nothing,  but  he  took  off  his  helmet 
and  we  entered  very  softly. 

The  Boy  was  dead  on  the  bed  in  the  centre  of 
the  bare,  lime-washed  room.  He  had  shot  his  head 
nearly  to  pieces  with  his  revolver.  The  gun-cases  were 
still  strapped,  so  was  the  bedding,  and  on  the  table 
lay  The  Boy's  writing-case  with  photographs.  He  had 
gone  away  to  die  like  a  poisoned  rat ! 

The  Major  said  to  himself  softly,  '  Poor  Boy  !  Poor, 
poor  devil !  '  Then  he  turned  away  from  the  bed  and 
said,  'I  want  your  help  in  this  business.' 

Knowing  The  Boy  was  dead  by  his  own  hand,  I 
saw  exactly  what  that  help  would  be,  so  I  passed  over 
to  the  table,  took  a  chair,  lit  a  cheroot,  and  began  to 
go  through  the  writing-case  ;  the  Major  looking  over 
my  shoulder  and  repeating  to  himself,  *  We  came  too 
late  !  —  Like  a  rat  in  a  hole  !  —  Poor,  poor  devil ! ' 

The  Boy  must  have  spent  half  the  night  in  writing 
to  his  people,  to  his  Colonel,  and  to  a  girl  at  Home  ; 
and  as  soon  as  he  had  finished,  must  have  shot  himself, 
for  he  had  been  dead  a  long  time  when  we  came  in. 

I  read  all  that  he  had  written,  and  passed  over  each 
sheet  to  the  Major  as  I  finished  it. 

We  saw  from  his  accounts  how  very  seriously  he 


THROWN  AWAY  21 

had  taken  everything.  He  wrote  about '  disgrace  which 
he  was  unable  to  bear '  —  '  indelible  shame '  — '  criminal 
folly '  — '  wasted  life,'  and  so  on  ;  besides  a  lot  of  private 
things  to  his  father  and  mother  much  too  sacred  to  put 
into  point.  The  letter  to  the  girl  at  Home  was  the 
most  pitiful  of  all ;  and  I  choked  as  I  read  it.  The 
Major  made  no  attempt  to  keep  dry-eyed.  I  respected 
him  for  that.  He  read  and  rocked  himself  to  and  fro, 
and  simply  cried  like  a  woman  without  trying  to  hide 
it.  The  letters  were  so  dreary  and  hopeless  and  touch- 
ing. We  forgot  all  about  The  Boy's  follies,  and  only 
thought  of  the  poor  Thing  on  the  bed  and  the  scrawled 
sheets  in  our  hands.  It  was  utterly  impossible  to  let 
the  letters  go  Home.  They  would  have  broken  his 
father's  heart  and  killed  his  mother  after  killing  her 
belief  in  her  son. 

At  last  the  Major  dried  his  eyes  openly,  and  said, 
'  Nice  sort  of  thing  to  spring  on  an  English  family ! 
What  shall  we  do  ?  ' 

I  said,  knowing  what  the  Major  had  brought  me  out 
for,  — '  The  Boy  died  of  cholera.  We  were  with  him  at 
the  time.  We  can't  commit  ourselves  to  half-measures. 
Come  along.' 

Then  began  one  of  the  most  grimly  comic  scenes  I 
have  ever  taken  part  in  —  the  concoction  of  a  big, 
written  lie,  bolstered  with  evidence,  to  soothe  The  Boy's 
people  at  Home.  I  began  the  rough  draft  of  the  letter, 
the  Major  throwing  in  hints  here  and  there  while  he 
gathered  up  all  the  stuff  that  The  Boy  had  written  and 
burnt  it  in  the  fireplace.  It  was  a  hot,  still  evening 
when  we  began,  and  the  lamp  burned  very  badly.  In 
due  course  I  made  the  draft  to  1113'  satisfaction,  setting 
forth  how  The  Boy  was  the  pattern  of  all  virtues, 


22  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

beloved  by  his  regiment,  with  every  promise  of  a  great 
career  before  him,  and  so  on  ;  how  we  had  helped  him 
through  the  sickness  —  it  was  no  time  for  little  lies  you 
will  understand  —  and  how  he  had  died  without  pain. 
I  choked  while  I  was  putting  down  these  things  and 
thinking  of  the  poor  people  who  would  read  them. 
Then  I  laughed  at  the  grotesqueness  of  the  affair,  and 
the  laughter  mixed  itself  up  with  the  choke  —  and  the 
Major  said  that  we  both  wanted  drinks. 

I  am  afraid  to  say  how  much  whisky  we  drank 
before  the  letter  was  finished.  It  had  not  the  least 
effect  on  us.  Then  we  took  off  The  Boy's  watch, 
locket,  and  rings. 

Lastly,  the  Major  said,  'We  must  send  a  lock  of 
hair  too.  A  woman  values  that.' 

But  there  were  reasons  why  we  could  not  find  a 
lock  fit  to  send.  The  Boy  was  black-haired,  and  so 
was  the  Major,  luckily.  I  cut  off  a  piece  of  the  Major's 
hair  above  the  temple  with  a  knife,  and  put  it  into 
the  packet  we  were  making.  The  laughing-fit  and  the 
chokes  got  hold  of  me  again,  and  I  had  to  stop.  The 
Major  was  nearly  as  bad ;  and  we  both  knew  that  the 
worst  part  of  the  work  was  to  come. 

We  sealed  up  the  packet,  photographs,  locket,  seals, 
ring,  letter,  and  lock  of  hair  with  The  Boy's  sealing- 
wax  and  The  Boy's  seal. 

Then  the  Major  said,  '  For  God's  sake  let's  get  out- 
side —  away  from  the  room  —  and  think  !  ' 

We  went  outside,  and  walked  on  the  banks  of  the 
Canal  for  an  hour,  eating  and  drinking  what  we  had 
with  us,  until  the  moon  rose.  I  know  now  exactly  how 
a  murderer  feels.  Finally,  we  forced  ourselves  back  to 
the  room  with  the  lamp  and  the  Other  Thing  in  it,  and 


THROWN  AWAY  23 

began  to  take  up  the  next  piece  of  work.  I  am  not 
going  to  write  about  this.  It  was  too  horrible.  We 
burned  the  bedstead  and  dropped  the  ashes  into  the 
Canal ;  we  took  up  the  matting  of  the  room  and  treated 
that  in  the  same  way.  I  went  off  to  a  village  and  bor- 
rowed two  big  hoes,  —  I  did  not  want  the  villagers  to 
help,  —  while  the  Major  arranged  —  the  other  matters. 
It  took  us  four  hours'  hard  work  to  make  the  grave. 
As  we  worked,  we  argued  out  whether  it  was  right  to 
say  as  much  as  we  remembered  of  the  Burial  of  th& 
Dead.  We  compromised  things  by  saying  the  Lord's 
Prayer  with  a  private  unofficial  prayer  for  the  peace  of 
the  soul  of  The  Boy.  Then  we  filled  in  the  grave  and 
went  into  the  verandah  —  not  the  house  —  to  lie  down 
to  sleep.  We  were  dead-tired. 

When  we  woke  the  Major  said  wearily,  '  We  can't 
go  back  till  to-morrow.  We  must  give  him  a  decent 
time  to  die  in.  He  died  early  this  morning,  remember. 
That  seems  more  natural.'  So  the  Major  must  have 
been  lying  awake  all  the  time,  thinking. 

I  said,  '  Then  why  didn't  we  bring  the  body  back 
to  cantonments  ? ' 

The  Major  thought  for  a  minute.  '  Because  the 
people  bolted  when  they  heard  of  the  cholera.  And 
the  ekka  has  gone  ! ' 

That  was  strictly  true.  We  had  forgotten  all  about 
the  eK"a-ponv,  and  he  had  gone  home. 

So  we  were  loft  there  alone,  all  that  stitling  day,  in 
the  Canal  Rest  House,  testing  and  re-testing  our  story 
of  The  Boy's  death  to  see  if  it  was  weak  in  any  point. 
A  native  appeared  in  the  afternoon,  but  we  said  that  a 
Sahib  was  dead  of  cholera,  and  he  ran  away.  As  the 
dusk  gathered,  the  Major  told  me  all  his  fears  about 


24  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

The  Boy,  and  awful  stories  of  suicide  or  nearly  carried- 
out  suicide  —  tales  that  made  one's  hair  crisp.  He  said 
that  he  himself  had  once  gone  into  the  same  Valley 
of  the  Shadow  as  The  Boy,  when  he  was  young  and 
new  to  the  country ;  so  he  understood  how  things 
fought  together  in  The  Boy's  poor  jumbled  head.  He 
also  said  that  youngsters,  in  their  repentant  moments, 
consider  their  sins  much  more  serious  and  ineffaceable 
than  they  really  are.  We  talked  together  all  through 
the  evening  and  rehearsed  the  story  of  the  death  of  The 
Boy.  As  soon  as  the  moon  was  up,  and  The  Boy,  theo- 
retically, just  buried,  we  struck  across  country  for  the 
Station.  We  walked  from  eight  till  six  o'clock  in  the 
morning;  but  though  we  were  dead-tired,  we  did  not 
forget  to  go  to  The  Boy's  rooms  and  put  away  his 
revolver  with  the  proper  amount  of  cartridges  in  the 
pouch.  Also  to  set  his  writing-case  on  the  table.  We 
found  the  Colonel  and  reported  the  death,  feeling  more 
like  murderers  than  ever.  Then  we  went  to  bed  and 
slept  the  clock  round ;  for  there  was  no  more  in  us. 

The  tale  had  credence  as  long  as  was  necessary ;  for 
every  one  forgot  about  The  Boy  before  a  fortnight  was 
over.  Many  people,  however,  found  time  to  say  that 
the  Major  had  behaved  scandalously  in  not  bringing  in 
the  body  for  a  regimental  funeral.  The  saddest  thing 
of  all  was  the  letter  from  The  Boy's  mother  to  the 
Major  and  me  —  with  big  inky  blisters  all  over  the 
sheet.  She  wrote  the  sweetest  possible  things  about 
our  great  kindness,  and  the  obligation  she  would  be 
under  to  us  as  long  as  she  lived. 

All  things  considered,  she  was  under  an  obligation; 
exactly  as  she  meant. 


MISS   YOUGHAL'S   SAIS 

When  Man  and  Woman  are  agreed,  what  can  the  Kazi  do  ? 

—  Proverb. 

SOME  people  say  that  there  is  no  romance  in  India. 
Those  people  are  wrong.  Our  lives  hold  quite  as 
much  romance  as  is  good  for  us.  Sometimes  more. 

Strickland  was  in  the  Police,  and  people  did  not 
understand  him ;  so  they  said  he  was  a  doubtful  sort  of 
man,  and  passed  by  on  the  other  side.  Strickland  had 
himself  to  thank  for  this.  He  held  the  extraordinary 
theory  that  a  Policeman  in  India  should  try  to  know 
as  much  about  the  natives  as  the  natives  themselves. 
Now,  in  the  whole  of  Upper  India,  there  is  only  one 
man  who  can  pass  for  Hindu  or  Mohammedan,  hide- 
dresser  or  priest,  as  he  pleases.  He  is  feared  and 
respected  by  the  natives  from  the  Ghor  Katliri  to  the 
Jamma  Musjid  ;  and  he  is  supposed  to  have  the  gift 
of  invisibility  and  executive  control  over  many  Devils. 
But  this  has  done  him  no  good  in  the  eyes  of  the  Indian 
Government. 

Strickland  was  foolish  enough  to  take  that  man  for 
his  model ;  and,  following  out  his  absurd  theory, 
dabbled  in  unsavoury  places  no  respectable  man  would 
think  of  exploring  —  all  among  the  native  riff-raff.  He 
educated  himself  in  this  peculiar  way  for  seven  years, 

25 


26  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

and  people  could  not  appreciate  it.  He  was  perpetually 
'  going  Fantee '  among  natives,  which,  of  course,  no 
man  with  any  sense  believes  in.  He  was  initiated 
into  the  Sat  Bhai  at  Allahabad  once,  when  he  was  on 
leave  ;  he  knew  the  Lizzard-Song  of  the  Sansis,  and 
the  Hdlli-HuWc  dance,  which  is  a  religious  can-can  of 
a  startling  kind.  When  a  man  knows  who  dance  the 
Bdlli-HuWc,  and  how,  and  when,  and  where,  he  knows 
something  to  be  proud  of.  He  has  gone  deeper  than 
the  skin.  But  Strickland  was  not  proud,  though  he 
had  helped  once,  at  Jagadhri,  at  the  Painting  of  the 
Death  Bull,  which  no  Englishman  must  even  look 
upon  ;  had  mastered  the  thieves'-patter  of  the  clidngars; 
had  taken  a  Eusufzai  horse-thief  alone  near  Attock ; 
and  had  stood  under  the  sounding-board  of  a  Border 
mosque  and  conducted  service  in  the  manner  of  a 
Sunni  Mollah. 

His  crowning  achievement  was  spending  eleven  days 
as  a  faquir  or  priest  in  the  gardens  of  Baba  Atal  at 
Amritsar,  and  there  picking  up  the  threads  of  the  great 
Nasiban  Murder  Case.  But  people  said,  justly  enough, 
*  Why  on  earth  can't  Strickland  sit  in  his  office  and 
write  up  his  diary,  and  recruit,  and  keep  quiet,  instead 
of  showing  up  the  incapacity  of  his  seniors  ?  '  So  the 
Nasiban  Murder  Case  did  him  no  good  departmentally; 
but,  after  his  first  feeling  of  wrath,  he  returned  to  his 
outlandish  custom  of  prying  into  native  life.  When 
a  man  once  acquires  a  taste  for  this  particular 
amusement,  it  abides  with  him  all  his  days.  It  is 
the  most  fascinating  thing  in  the  world;  Love  not 
excepted.  Where  other  men  took  ten  days  to  the 
Hills,  Strickland  took  leave  for  what  he  called  shikar, 
put  on  the  disguise  that  appealed  to  him  at  the  time, 


MISS  YOUGHAL'S  SAIS  27 

stepped  down  into  the  brown  crowd,  and  was  swallowed 
up  for  a  while.  He  was  a  quiet,  dark  young  fellow  — 
spare,  black-eyed  —  and,  when  he  was  not  thinking  o£ 
something  else,  a  very  interesting  companion.  Strick- 
land on  Native  Progress  as  he  had  seen  it  was  worth 
hearing.  Natives  hated  Strickland ;  but  they  were 
afraid  of  him.  He  knew  too  much. 

When  the  Youghals  came  into  the  station,  Strick- 
land —  very  gravely,  as  he  did  everything  —  fell  in  love 
with  Miss  Youghal ;  and  she,  after  a  while,  fell  in  love 
with  him  because  she  could  not  understand  him.  Then 
Strickland  told  the  parents;  but  Mrs.  Youghal  said 
she  was  not  going  to  throw  her  daughter  into  the  worst 
paid  Department  in  the  Empire,  and  old  Youghal  said, 
in  so  many  words,  that  he  mistrusted  Strickland's  ways 
and  works,  and  would  thank  him  not  to  speak  or  write 
to  his  daughter  any  more.  'Very  well,'  said  Strick- 
land, for  he  did  not  wish  to  make  his  lady-love's  life 
a  burden.  After  one  long  talk  with  Miss  Youghal  he 
dropped  the  business  entirely. 

The  Youghals  went  up  to  Simla  in  April. 

In  July  Strickland  secured  three  months'  leave  on 
'urgent  private  affairs.'  He  locked  up  his  house  — 
though  not  a  native  in  the  Province  would  wittingly 
have  touched  '  Estreekin  Sahib's  '  gear  for  the  world 
—  and  went  down  to  see  a  friend  of  his,  an  old  dyer, 
at  Tarn  Taran. 

Here  all  trace  of  him  was  lost,  until  a  sais  or  groom  met 
me  on  the  Simla  Mall  with  this  extraordinary  note  :  — 

DEAR  OLD  MAX,  —  Please  give  bearer  a  box  of  cheroots  —  Supers, 
No.  1,  for  preference.  They  are  freshest  at  the  Club.  I'll  repay 
when  I  reappear ;  but  at  present  I'm  out  of  society.  —  Yours, 

E.  STRICKLAND. 


28  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HELLS 

I  ordered  two  boxes,  and  handed  them  over  to  the 
sais  with  my  love.  That  sais  was  Strickland,  and  he 
was  in  old  Youghal's  employ,  attached  to  Miss 
Youghal's  Arab.  The  poor  fellow  was  suffering  for 
an  English  smoke,  and  knew  that,  whatever  happened, 
I  should  hold  my  tongue  till  the  business  was  over. 

Later  on,  Mrs.  Youghal,  who  was  wrapped  up  in 
her  servants,  began  talking  at  houses  where  she  called 
of  her  paragon  among  saises  —  the  man  who  was  never 
too  busy  to  get  up  in  the  morning  and  pick  flowers  for 
the  breakfast-table,  and  who  blacked  —  actually  blacked 
—  the  hoofs  of  his  horse  like  a  London  coachman  I  The 
turn-out  of  Miss  Youghal's  Arab  was  a  wonder  and  a 
delight.  Strickland  —  Dulloo,  I  mean — found  his  re- 
ward in  the  pretty  things  that  Miss  Youghal  said  to  him 
when  she  went  out  riding.  Her  parents  were  pleased 
to  find  she  had  forgotten  all  her  foolishness  for  young 
Strickland,  and  said  she  was  a  good  girl. 

Strickland  vows  that  the  two  mouths  of  his  service 
•were  the  most  rigid  mental  discipline  he  has  ever  gone 
through.  Quite  apart  from  the  little  fact  that  the 
wife  of  one  of  his  fellow-saz'ses  fell  in  love  with  him 
and  then  tried  to  poison  him  with  arsenic  because  he 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  her,  he  had  to  school 
himself  into  keeping  quiet  when  Miss  Youghal  went 
out  riding  with  some  man  who  tried  to  flirt  with  her, 
and  he  was  forced  to  trot  behind  carrying  the  blanket 
and  hearing  every  word  !  Also,  he  had  to  keep  his 
temper  when  he  was  slanged  in  the  theatre  porch  by 
a  policeman  —  especially  once  when  he  was  abused  by 
a  Naik  he  had  himself  recruited  from  Isser  Jang 
village  —  or,  worse  still,  when  a  young  subaltern  called 
him  a  pig  for  not  making  way  quickly  enough. 


MISS  YOUGHAL'S  SAI8  29 

But  the  life  had  its  compensations.  He  obtained 
great  insight  into  the  ways  and  thefts  of  saises  — 
enough  he  says  to  have  summarily  convicted  half 
the  population  of  the  Punjab  if  he  had  been  on 
business.  He  became  one  of  the  leading  players  at 
knuckle-bones,  which  all  jhampdnis  and  many  saises 
play  while  they  are  waiting  outside  the  Government 
House  or  the  Gaiety  Theatre  of  nights ;  he  learned  to 
smoke  tobacco  that  was  three-fourths  cowdung;  and 
he  heard  the  wisdom  of  the  grizzled  Jemadar  of  the 
Government  House  grooms.  Whose  words  are  valuable. 
He  saw  many  things  which  amused  him ;  and  he 
states,  on  honour,  that  no  man  can  appreciate  Simla 
properly  till  he  has  seen  it  from  the  sais's  point  of 
view.  He  also  says  that,  if  he  chose  to  write  all  he 
saw,  his  head  would  be  broken  in  several  places. 

Strickland's  account  of  the  agony  he  endured  on 
wet  nights,  hearing  the  music  and  seeing  the  lights 
in  '  Benmore,'  with  his  toes  tingling  for  a  waltz  and 
his  head  in  a  horse-blanket,  is  rather  amusing.  One  of 
these  days,  Strickland  is  going  to  write  a  little  book 
on  his  experiences.  That  book  will  be  worth  buying ; 
and  even  more  worth  suppressing. 

Thus,  he  served  faithfully  as  Jacob  served  for 
Rachel ;  and  his  leave  was  nearly  at  an  end  when  the 
explosion  came.  He  had  really  done  his  best  to  keep 
his  temper  in  the  hearing  of  the  flirtations  I  have 
mentioned ;  but  lie  broke  down  at  last.  An  old  and 
very  distinguished  General  took  Miss  Youghal  for  a 
ride,  and  began  that  specially  offensive  '  you're-only-a- 
little-girl '  sort  of  flirtation  —  most  difficult  for  a  woman 
to  turn  aside  deftly,  and  most  maddening  to  listen  to. 
Miss  Youghal  was  shaking  with  fear  at  the  things  he 


30  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

said  in  the  hearing  of  her  sais.  Dulloo —  Strickland — 
stood  it  as  long  as  he  could.  Then  he  caught  hold  of 
the  General's  bridle,  and,  in  most  fluent  English,  in- 
vited him  to  step  off  and  be  flung  over  the  cliff.  Next 
minute,  Miss  Youghal  began  to  cry;  and  Strickland 
saw  that  he  had  hopelessly  given  himself  away,  and 
everything  was  over. 

The  General  nearly  had  a  fit,  while  Miss  Youghal 
was  sobbing  out  the  story  of  the  disguise  and  the 
engagement  that  was  not  recognised  by  the  parents. 
Strickland  was  furiously  angry  with  himself,  and  more 
angry  with  the  General  for  forcing  his  hand ;  so  he 
said  nothing,  but  held  the  horse's  head  and  prepared  to 
thrash  the  General  as  some  sort  of  satisfaction.  But 
when  the  General  had  thoroughly  grasped  the  story, 
and  knew  who  Strickland  was,  he  began  to  puff  and 
blow  in  the  saddle,  and  nearly  rolled  off  with  laughing. 
He  said  Strickland  deserved  a  V.C.,  if  it  were  only  for 
putting  on  a  sais's  blanket.  Then  he  called  himself 
names,  and  vowed  that  he  deserved  a  thrashing,  but  he 
was  too  old  to  take  it  from  Strickland.  Then  he  com- 
plimented Miss  Youghal  on  her  lover.  The  scandal  of 
the  business  never  struck  him ;  for  he  was  a  nice  old 
man,  with  a  weakness  for  flirtations.  Then  he  laughed 
again,  and  said  that  old  Youghal  was  a  fool.  Strick- 
land let  go  of  the  cob's  head,  and  suggested  that  the 
General  had  better  help  them,  if  that  was  his  opinion. 
Strickland  knew  Youghal's  weakness  for  men  with 
titles  and  letters  after  their  names  and  high  official 
position.  '  It's  rather  like  a  forty-minute  farce,'  said 
the  General,  'but,  begad,  I  will  help,  if  it's  only  to 
escape  that  tremendous  thrashing  I  deserve.  Go 
along  to  your  home,  my  s<m-Policeman,  and  change 


MISS  YOUGHAL'S  SAIS  31 

into  decent  kit,  and   I'll   attack  Mr.  Youghal.     Miss 
Youghal,  may  I  ask  you  to  canter  home  and  wait  ? ' 


About  seven  minutes  later,  there  was  a  wild  hurroosh 
at  the  Club.  A  sais,  with  blanket  and  headrope,  was 
asking  all  the  men  he  knew  :  '  For  Heaven's  sake  lend 
me  decent  clothes !  '  As  the  men  did  not  recognise 
him,  there  were  some  peculiar  scenes  before  Strickland 
could  get  a  hot  bath,  with  soda  in  it,  in  one  room,  a 
shirt  here,  a  collar  there,  a  pair  of  trousers  elsewhere, 
and  so  on.  He  galloped  off,  with  half  the  Club  ward- 
robe on  his  back,  and  an  utter  stranger's  pony  under 
him,  to  the  house  of  old  Youghal.  The  General, 
arrayed  in  purple  and  fine  linen,  was  before  him. 
What  the  General  had  said  Strickland  never  knew,  but 
Youghal  received  Strickland  with  moderate  civility ; 
and  Mrs.  Youghal,  touched  by  the  devotion  of  the 
transformed  Dulloo,  was  almost  kind.  The  General 
beamed  and  chuckled,  and  Miss  Youghal  came  in.  and, 
almost  before  old  Youghal  knew  where  he  was.  the 
parental  consent  had  been  wrenched  out,  and  Strick- 
land had  departed  with  Miss  Youghal  to  the  Telegraph 
Office  to  wire  for  his  European  kit.  The  final  embar- 
rassment was  when  the  stranger  attacked  him  on  the 
Mall  and  asked  for  the  stolen  pony. 

In  the  end,  Strickland  and  Miss  Youghal  were 
married,  on  the  strict  understanding  that  Strickland 
should  drop  his  old  ways,  and  stick  to  Departmental 
routine,  which  pays  best  and  leads  to  Simla.  Strick- 
land was  far  too  fond  of  his  wife,  just  then,  to  break  his 
word,  but  it  was  a  sore  trial  to  him  ;  for  the  streets 
and  the  bazars,  and  the  sounds  in  them,  were  full  of 


82  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

meaning  to  Strickland,  and  these  called  to  him  to  come 
back  and  take  up  his  wanderings  and  his  discoveries. 
Some  day,  I  will  tell  you  how  he  broke  his  promise  to 
help  a  friend.  That  was  long  since,  and  he  has,  by 
this  time,  been  nearly  spoilt  for  what  he  would  call 
shikar.  He  is  forgetting  the  slang,  and  the  beggar's 
cant,  and  the  marks,  and  the  signs,  and  the  drift  of  the 
under-currents,  which,  if  a  man  would  master,  he  must 
always  continue  to  learn. 

But  he  fills,  in  his  Departmental  returns  beautifully. 


'YOKED   WITH   AN   UNBELIEVER' 

I  ain  dying  for  you,  and  you  are  dying  for  another. 

—  Punjabi  Proverb, 

WHEN  the  Gravesend  tender  left  the  P.  &  O.  steamer 
for  Bombay  and  went  back  to  catch  the  train  to  Town, 
there  were  many  people  in  it  crying.  But  the  one 
who  wept  most,  and  most  openly,  was  Miss  Agnes 
Laiter.  She  had  reason  to  cry,  because  the  only  man 
she  ever  loved  —  or  ever  could  love,  so  she  said  —  was 
going  out  to  India  ;  and  India,  as  every  one  knows,  is 
divided  equally  between  jungle,  tigers,  cobras,  cholera, 
and  sepoys. 

Phil  Garron,  leaning  over  the  side  of  the  steamer 
in  the  rain,  felt  very  unhappy  too  ;  but  he  did  not 
cry.  He  was  sent  out  to  'tea.'  What  'tea'  meant  he 
had  not  the  vaguest  idea,  but  fancied  that  he  would 
have  to  ride  on  a  prancing  horse  over  hills  covered 
with  tea-vines,  and  draw  a  sumptuous  salary  for  doing 
so  ;  and  he  was  very  grateful  to  his  uncle  for  getting 
him  the  berth.  He  was  really  going  to  reform  all  his 
slack,  shiftless  ways,  save  a  large  proportion  of  his 
magnificent  salary  yearly,  and,  in  a  very  short  time, 
return  to  marry  Agnes  Laiter.  Phil  Garron  had  been 
lying  loose  on  his  friends'  hands  for  three  years,  and, 
as  he  had  nothing  to  do,  he  naturally  fell  in  love. 
»  33 


34  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

He  was  very  nice  ;  but  he  was  not  strong  in  his  views 
and  opinions  and  principles,  and  though  he  never  came 
to  actual  grief  his  friends  were  thankful  when  he  said 
good-bye,  and  went  out  to  this  mysterious  'tea' 
business  near  Darjiling.  They  said,  '  God  bless  you, 
dear  boy  !  Let  us  never  see  your  face  again,'  —  or  at 
least  that  was  what  Phil  was  given  to  understand. 

When  he  sailed,  he  was  very  full  of  a  great  plan  to 
prove  himself  several  hundred  times  better  than  any 
one  had  given  him  credit  for  —  to  work  like  a  horse, 
and  triumphantly  marry  Agnes  Laiter.  He  had  many 
good  points  besides  his  good  looks ;  his  only  fault 
being  that  he  was  weak,  the  least  little  bit  in  the  world 
weak.  He  had  as  much  notion  of  economy  as  the 
Morning  Sun ;  and  yet  you  could  not  lay  your  hand  on 
any  one  item,  and  say,  '  Herein  Phil  Garron  is  extrava- 
gant or  reckless.'  Nor  could  you  point  out  any  par- 
ticular vice  in  his  character  ;  but  he  was  '  unsatisfactory ' 
and  as  workable  as  putty. 

Agnes  Laiter  went  about  her  duties  at  home  —  her 
family  objected  to  the  engagement  —  with  red  eyes, 
while  Phil  was  sailing  to  Darjiling  —  a  'port  on  the 
Bengal  Ocean,'  as  his  mother  used  to  tell  her  friends. 
He  was  popular  enough  on  board  ship,  made  many 
acquaintances  and  a  moderately  large  liquor-bill,  and 
sent  off  huge  letters  to  Agnes  Laiter  at  each  port. 
Then  he  fell  to  work  on  this  plantation,  somewhere 
between  Darjiling  and  Kangra,  and,  though  the  salary 
and  the  horse  and  the  work  were  not  quite  all  he  had 
fancied,  he  succeeded  fairly  well,  and  gave  himself 
much  unnecessary  credit  for  his  perseverance. 

In  the  course  of  time,  as  he  settled  more  into  collar, 
and  his  work  grew  fixed  before  him,  the  face  of  Agnes 


•YOKED  WITH  AN  UNBELIEVER'  35 

Laiter  went  out  of  his  mind  and  only  came  when  he 
was  at  leisure,  which  was  not  often.  He  would  forget 
all  about  her  for  a  fortnight,  and  remember  her  with  a 
start,  like  a  schoolboy  who  has  forgotten  to  learn  his 
lesson.  She  did  not  forget  Phil,  because  she  was  of  the 
kind  that  never  forgets.  Only,  another  man  —  a  really 
desirable  young  man  —  presented  himself  before  Mrs. 
Laiter ;  and  the  chance  of  a  marriage  with  Phil  was  as 
far  off  as  ever ;  and  his  letters  were  so  unsatisfactory ; 
and  there  was  a  certain  amount  of  domestic  pressure 
brought  to  bear  on  the  girl ;  and  the  young  man  really 
was  an  eligible  person  as  incomes  go  ;  and  the  end  of 
all  things  was  that  Agnes  married  him,  and  wrote  a 
tempestuous  whirlwind  of  a  letter  to  Phil  in  the  wilds 
of  Darjiling,  and  said  she  should  never  know  a  happy 
moment  all  the  rest  of  her  life.  Which  was  a  true 
prophecy. 

Phil  received  that  letter,  and  held  himself  ill-treated. 
This  was  two  3rears  after  he  had  come  out ;  but  by  dint 
of  thinking  fixedly  of  Agnes  Laiter,  and  looking  at  her 
photograph,  and  patting  himself  on  the  back  for  being 
one  of  the  most  constant  lovers  in  history,  and  warm- 
ing to  the  work  as  he  went  on,  lie  really  fancied  that 
he  had  been  very  hardly  used.  He  sat  down  and  wrote 
one  final  letter  —  a  really  pathetic  'world  without  end, 
amen,'  epistle ;  explaining  how  he  would  be  true  to 
Eternity,  and  that  all  women  were  very  much  alike, 
and  he  would  hide  his  broken  heart,  etc.  etc.;  but  if, 
at  any  future  time,  etc.  etc.,  he  could  afford  to  wait, 
etc.  etc.,  unchanged  affections,  etc.  etc.,  return  to  her 
old  love,  etc.  etc.,  for  eight  closely  written  pages. 
From  an  artistic  point  of  view,  it  was  very  neat  work, 
but  an  ordinary  Philistine,  who  knew  the  state  of  Phil's 


36  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

real  feelings,  —  not  the  ones  he  rose  to  as  he  went  on 
writing,  —  would  have  called  it  the  thoroughly  mean 
and  selfish  work  of  a  thoroughly  mean  and  selfish 
weak  man.  But  this  verdict  would  have  been  in- 
correct. Phil  paid  for  the  postage,  and  felt  every 
word  he  had  written  for  at  least  two  days  and  a  half. 
It  was  the  last  flicker  before  the  light  went  out. 

That  letter  made  Agnes  Laiter  very  unhappy,  and 
she  cried  and  put  it  away  in  her  desk,  and  became 
Mrs.  Somebody  Else  for  the  good  of  her  family. 
Which  is  the  first  duty  of  every  Christian  maid. 

Phil  went  his  ways,  and  thought  no  more  of  his 
letter,  except  as  an  artist  thinks  of  a  neatly  touched- 
in  sketch.  His  ways  were  not  bad,  but  they  were  not 
altogether  good  until  they  brought  him  across  Dunmaya, 
the  daughter  of  a  Rajput  ex-Subadar-Major  of  our  Native 
Army.  The  girl  had  a  strain  of  Hill  blood  in  her,  and, 
like  the  Hill-women,  was  not  a  purdah-nashin  or  woman 
who  lives  behind  the  veil.  Where  Phil  met  her,  or 
how  he  heard  of  her,  does  not  matter.  She  was  a 
good  girl  and  handsome,  and,  in  her  way,  very  clever 
and  shrewd  ;  though,  of  course,  a  little  hard.  It  is  to 
be  remembered  that  Phil  was  living  very  comfortably, 
denying  himself  no  small  luxury,  never  putting  by  a 
penny,  very  satisfied  with  himself  and  his  good  inten- 
tions, was  dropping  all  his  English  correspondents  one 
by  one,  and  beginning  more  and  more  to  look  upon 
India  as  his  home.  Some  men  fall  this  way  ;  and  they 
are  of  no  use  afterwards.  The  climate  where  he  was 
stationed  was  good,  and  it  really  did  not  seem  to  him 
that  there  was  any  reason  to  return  to  England. 

He  did  what  many  planters  have  done  before  him 
• — that  is  to  say,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  marry  a 


•YOKED  WITH  AN  UNBELIEVER'          37 

Hill-girl  and  settle  down.  He  was  seven-and-twenty 
then,  with  a  long  life  before  him,  but  no  spirit  to  go 
through  with  it.  So  he  married  Dunmaya  by  the 
forms  of  the  English  Church,  and  some  fellow-planters 
said  he  was  a  fool,  and  some  said  he  was  a  wise  man. 
Dunmaya  was  a  thoroughly  honest  girl,  and,  in  spite 
of  her  reverence  for  an  Englishman,  had  a  reasonable 
estimate  of  her  husband's  weaknesses.  She  managed 

O 

him  tenderly,  and  became,  in  ^ss  than  a  year,  a  very 
passable  imitation  of  an  English  lady  in  dress  and 
carriage.  It  is  curious  to  think  that  a  Hill-man 
after  a  lifetime's  education  is  a  Hill-man  still  ;  but 
a  Hill-woman  can  in  six  months  master  most  of  the 
ways  of  her  English  sisters.  There  was  a  coolie- 
woman  once.  But  that  is  another  story.  Dunmaya 
dressed  by  preference  in  black  and  yellow  and  looked 
well. 

Meantime  Phil's  letter  lay  in  Agnes  Laiter's  desk,  and 
now  and  again  she  would  think  of  poor,  resolute,  hard- 
working Phil  among  the  cobras  and  tigers  of  Darjiling, 
toiling  in  the  vain  hope  that  she  might  come  back  to 
him.  Her  husband  was  worth  ten  Phils,  except  that 
ne  had  rheumatism  of  the  heart.  Three  years  after 
he  was  married,  —  and  after  he  had  tried  Nice  and 
Algeria{for  his  complaint,  —  lie  went  to  Bombay,  where 
he  died,  and  set  Agnes  free.  Being  a  devout  woman, 
she  looked  on  his  death  and  the  place  of  it  as  a  direct 
interposition  of  Providence,  and  when  she  had  recovered 
from  the  shock,  she  took  out  and  re-read  Phil's  letter 
with  the  'etc.  etc.,'  and  the  big  dashes,  and  the  little 
dashes,  and  kissed  it  several  times.  No  one  knew  her 
in  Bombay;  she  had  her  husband's  income,  which  was 
a  large  one,  and  Phil  was  close  at  hand.  It  was  wrong 


38  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

and  improper,  of  course,  but  she  decided,  as  heroines 
do  in  novels,  to  find  her  old  lover,  to  offer  him  her 
hand  and  her  gold,  and  with  him  spend  the  rest  of  her 
life  in  some  spot  far  from  unsympathetic  souls.  She 
sat  for  two  months,  alone  in  Watson's  Hotel,  elaborat- 
ing this  decision,  and  the  picture  was  a  pretty  one. 
Then  she  set  out  in  search  of  Phil  Garron,  Assistant 
on  a  tea  plantation  with  a  more  than  usually  unpro- 
nounceable name. 

******* 

She  found  him.  She  spent  a  month  over  it,  for  his 
plantation  was  not  in  the  Darjiling  district  at  all,  but 
nearer  Kangra.  Phil  was  very  little  altered,  and 
Dunmaya  was  very  nice  to  her. 

Now  the  particular  sin  and  shame  of  the  whole 
business  is  that  Phil,  who  really  is  not  worth  thinking 
of  twice,  was  and  is  loved  by  Dunmaya,  and  more  than 
loved  by  Agnes,  the  whole  of  whose  life  he  seems  to 
have  spoilt. 

Worst  of  all,  Dunmaya  is  making  a  decent  man  of 
him ;  and  he  will  ultimately  be  saved  from  perdition 
through  her  training. 

Which  is  manifestly  unfair. 


FALSE   DAWN 

To-night  God  knows  what  thing  shall  tide, 

The  Earth  is  racked  and  faint  — 
Expectant,  sleepless,  open-eyed  ; 
And  we,  who  from  the  Earth  were  made, 

Thrill  with  our  Mother's  pain. 

—  In  Durance. 

No  man  will  ever  know  the  exact  truth  of  this  story; 
though  women  may  sometimes  whisper  it  to  one 
another  after  a  dance,  when  they  are  putting  up  their 
hair  for  the  night  and  comparing  lists  of  victims.  A 
man,  of  course,  cannot  assist  at  these  functions.  So 
the  tale  must  be  told  from  the  outside  —  in  the  dark  — 
all  wrong. 

Never  praise  a  sister  to  a  sister,  in  the  hope  of  your 
compliments  reaching  the  proper  ears,  and  so  preparing 
the  way  for  you  later  on.  Sisters  are  women  first,  and 
sisters  afterwards;  and  you  will  find  that  you  do  your- 
self harm. 

Saumarez  knew  this  when  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
propose  to  the  elder  Miss  Copleigh.  Saumarez  was  a 
strange  man,  with  few  merits  so  far  as  men  could  see, 
though  he  was  popular  with  women,  and  carried  enough 
conceit  to  stock  a  Viceroy's  Council  and  leave  a  little 
over  for  the  Commander-iu-Chief's  Staff.  He  was  a 
Civilian.  Very  many  women  took  an  interest  in  Sau« 

39 


40  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

marez,  perhaps,  because  his  manner  to  them  was  offen- 
sive. If  you  hit  a  pony  over  the  nose  at  the  outset  of 
your  acquaintance,  he  may  not  love  you,  but  he  will 
take  a  deep  interest  in  your  movements  ever  afterwards. 
The  elder  Miss  Copleigh  was  nice,  plump,  winning,  and 
pretty.  The  younger  was  not  so  pretty,  and,  from  men 
disregarding  the  hint  set  forth  above,  her  style  was  repel- 
lent and  unattractive.  Both  girls  had,  practically,  the 
same  figure,  and  there  was  a  strong  likeness  between 
them  in  look  and  voice  ;  though  no  one  could  doubt  for 
an  instant  which  was  the  nicer  of  the  two. 

Saumarez  made  up  his  mind,  as  soon  as  they  came 
into  the  station  from  Behar,  to  marry  the  elder  one. 
At  least,  we  all  made  sure  that  he  would,  which  comes 
to  the  same  thing.  She  was  two-and-twenty,  and  he 
was  thirty-three,  with  pay  and  allowances  of  nearly 
fourteen  hundred  rupees  a  month.  So  the  match,  as  we 
arranged  it,  was  in  every  way  a  good  one.  Saumarez 
was  his  name,  and  summary  was  his  nature,  as  a  man 
once  said.  Having  drafted  his  Resolution,  he  formed  a 
Select  Committee  of  One  to  sit  upon  it,  and  resolved  to 
take  his  time.  In  our  unpleasant  slang,  the  Copleigh 
girls  'hunted  in  couples.'  That  is  to  say,  you  could 
do  nothing  with  one  without  the  other.  They  wero 
very  loving  sisters  ;  but  their  mutual  affection  was 
sometimes  inconvenient.  Saumarez  held  the  balance- 
hair  true  between  them,  and  none  but  himself  could 
have  said  to  which  side  his  heart  inclined;  though 
every  one  guessed.  He  rode  with  them  a  good  deal 
and  danced  with  them,  but  he  never  succeeded  in 
detaching  them  from  each  other  for  any  length  of 
time. 

Women  said  that  the  two  girls  kept  together  through 


FALSE  DAWN  41 

deep  mistrust,  eacli  fearing  that  the  other  would  steal 
a  march  on  her.  But  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  a 
man.  Saumarez  was  silent  for  good  or  bad,  and  as 
business-likely  attentive  as  he  could  be,  having  due 
regard  to  his  work  and  his  polo.  Beyond  doubt  both 
girls  were  fond  of  him. 

As  the  hot  weather  drew  nearer  and  Saumarez  made 
no  sign,  women  said  that  you  could  see  their  trouble  in 
the  eyes  of  the  girls  —  that  they  were  looking  strained, 
anxious,  and  irritable.  Men  are  quite  blind  in  these 
matters  unless  they  have  more  of  the  woman  than  the 
man  in  their  composition,  in  which  case  it  does  not 
matter  what  they  say  or  think.  I  maintain  it  was  the 
hot  April  days  that  took  the  colour  out  of  the  Copleigh 
girls'  cheeks.  They  should  have  been  sent  to  the  Hills 
early.  No  one  —  man  or  woman  —  feels  an  angel  when 
the  hot  weather  is  approaching.  The  younger  sister 
grew  more  cynical,  not  to  say  acid,  in  her  ways ;  and 
the  winningness  of  the  elder  wore  thin.  There  was 
effort  in  it. 

The  Station  wherein  all  these  things  happened 
was,  though  not  a  little  one,  off  the  line  of  rail,  and 
suffered  through  want  of  attention.  There  were  no 
gardens,  or  bands  or  amusements  worth  speaking  of, 
and  it  was  nearly  a  day's  journey  to  come  into  Lahore 
for  a  dance.  People  were  grateful  for  small  things  to 
interest  them. 

About  the  beginning  of  May,  and  just  before  the 
final  exodus  of  Mill-goers,  when  the  weather  was  very 
hot  and  there  were  not  more  than  twenty  people  in  the 
Station,  Saumarez  gave  a  moonlight  riding-picnic  at  an 
old  tomb,  six  miles  away,  near  the  bed  of  the  river. 
It  was  a  '  Noah's  Ark  '  picnic ;  and  there  was  to  be 


42  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

the  usual  arrangement  of  quarter-mile  intervals  between 
each  couple,  on  account  of  the  dust.  Six  couples  came 
altogether,  including  chaperones.  Moonlight  picnics 
are  useful  just  at  the  very  end  of  the  season,  before  all 
the  girls  go  away  to  the  Hills.  They  lead  to  under- 
standings, and  should  be  encouraged  by  chaperones ; 
especially  those  whose  girls  look  sweetest  in  riding- 
habits.  I  knew  a  case  once.  But  that  is  another 
story.  That  picnic  was  called  the  '  Great  Pop  Picnic,' 
because  every  one  knew  Saumarez  would  propose  then 
to  the  eldest  Miss  Copleigh ;  and,  besides  his  affair, 
there  was  another  which  might  possibly  come  to  happi- 
ness. The  social  atmosphere  was  heavily  charged  and 
wanted  clearing. 

We  met  at  the  parade-ground  at  ten  :  the  night  was 
fearfully  hot.  The  horses  sweated  even  at  walking- 
pace,  but  anything  was  better  than  sitting  still  in  our 
own  dark  houses.  When  we  moved  off  under  the  full 
moon  we  were  four  couples,  one  triplet,  and  Me.  Sau- 
marez rode  with  the  Copleigh  girls,  and  I  loitered  at  the 
tail  of  the  procession  wondering  with  whom  Saumarez 
would  ride  home.  Every  one  was  happy  and  contented ; 
but  we  all  felt  that  things  were  going  to  happen. 
We  rode  slowly ;  and  it  was  midnight  before  we 
reached  the  old  tomb,  facing  the  ruined  tank,  in  the 
decayed  gardens  where  we  were  going  to  eat  and  drink. 
I  was  late  in  coming  up  ;  and,  before  I  went  in  to  the 
garden,  I  saw  that  the  horizon  to  the  north  carried  a 
faint,  dun-coloured  feather.  But  no  one  would  have 
thanked  me  for  spoiling  so  well-managed  an  entertain- 
ment as  this  picnic  —  and  a  dust-storm,  more  or  less, 
does  no  great  harm. 

We  gathered  by  the  tank.     Some  one  had  brought 


FALSE  DAWN  43 

out  a  banjo  —  which  is  a  most  sentimental  instrument 
—  and  three  or  four  of  us  sang.  You  must  not  laugh 
at  this.  Our  amusements  in  out-of-the-way  Stations  are 
very  few  indeed.  Then  we  talked  in  groups  or  together, 
lying  under  the  trees,  with  the  sun-baked  roses  drop- 
ping their  petals  on  our  feet,  until  supper  was  ready. 
It  was  a  beautiful  supper,  as  cold  and  as  iced  as  you 
could  wish  ;  and  we  stayed  long  over  it. 

I  had  felt  that  the  air  was  growing  hotter  and  hotter ; 
but  nobody  seemed  to  notice  it  until  the  moon  went  out 
and  a  burning  hot  wind  began  lashing  the  orange-trees 
with  a  sound  like  the  noise  of  the  sea.  Before  we  knew 
where  we  were,  the  dust-storm  was  on  us  and  every- 
thing was  roaring,  whirling  darkness.  The  supper- 
table  was  blown  bodily  into  the  tank.  We  were  afraid 
of  staying  anywhere  near  the  old  tomb  for  fear  it  might 
fall  down.  So  we  felt  our  way  to  the  orange-trees 
where  the  horses  were  picketed  and  waited  for  the 
storm  to  blow  over.  Then  the  little  remaining  light 
vanished,  and  you  could  not  see  your  hand  before  your 
face.  The  air  was  heavy  with  dust  and  sand  from  the 
bed  of  the  river,  that  filled  boots  and  pockets  and  drifted 
down  necks  and  coated  eyebrows  and  moustaches. 
We  all  huddled  together  close  to  the  trembling  horses, 
with  the  thunder  chattering  overhead,  and  the  lightning 
spurting  like  water  from  a  sluice,  all  ways  at  once.  There 
was  no  danger,  of  course,  unless  the  horses  broke  loose. 
I  was  standing  with  my  head  downwind  and  my  hands 
over  my  mouth,  hearing  the  trees  thrashing  each  other. 
I  could  not  see  who  was  next  me  till  the  flashes  came. 
Then  I  found  that  I  was  packed  near  Saumarez  and  the 
eldest  Miss  Copleigh,  with  my  own  horse  just  in  front 
of  me.  I  recognised  the  eldest  Miss  Copleigh,  because 


44  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

she  had  a  puggree  round  her  helmet,  and  the  younger  had 
not.  All  the  electricity  in  the  air  had  gone  into  my 
body  and  I  was  quivering  and  tingling  from  head  to 
foot  —  exactly  as  a  corn  shoots  and  tingles  before  rain. 
It  was  a  grand  storm.  The  wind  seemed  to  be  picking 
up  the  earth  and  pitching  it  to  leeward  in  great  heaps ; 
and  the  heat  beat  up  from  the  ground  like  the  heat  of 
the  Day  of  Judgment. 

The  storm  lulled  slightly  after  the  first  half-hour, 
and  I  heard  a  despairing  little  voice  close  to  my  ear, 
saying  to  itself,  quietly  and  softly,  as  if  some  lost  soul 
were  flying  about  with  the  wind,  '  O  my  God  !  ' 
Then  the  younger  Miss  Copleigh  stumbled  into  my 
arms,  saying,  '  Where  is  my  horse  ?  Get  my  horse. 
I  want  to  go  home.  I  want  to  go  home.  Take  me 
home.' 

I  thought  that  the  lightning  and  the  black  darkness 
had  frightened  her  ;  so  I  said  there  was  no  danger,  but 
she  must  wait  till  the  storm  blew  over.  She  answered, 
'  It  is  not  that  !  I  want  to  go  home  !  Oh,  take  me 
away  from  here  ! ' 

I  said  that  she  could  not  go  till  the  light  came ; 
but  I  felt  her  brush  past  me  and  go  away.  It  was 
too  dark  to  see  where.  Then  the  whole  sky  was  split 
open  with  one  tremendous  flash,  as  if  the  end  of  the 
world  were  coming,  and  all  the  women  shrieked. 

Almost  directly  after  this,  I  felt  a  man's  hand  on 
my  shoulder  and  heard  Saumarez  bellowing  in  my  ear. 
Through  the  rattling  of  the  trees  and  howling  of  the 
wind,  I  did  not  catch  his  words  at  once,  but  at  last  I 
heard  him  say,  '  I've  proposed  to  the  wrong  one  ! 
What  shall  I  do  ? '  Saumarez  had  no  occasion  to 
make  this  confidence  to  me.  I  was  never  a  friend  of 


FALSE  DAWN  45 

his,  nor  am  I  now ;  but  I  fancy  neither  of  us  were 
ourselves  just  then.  He  was  shaking  as  he  stood  with 
excitement,  and  I  was  feeling  queer  all  over  with  the 
electricity.  I  could  not  think  of  anything  to  say 
except,  'More  fool  you  for  proposing  in  a  dust- 
storm.'  But  I  did  not  see  how  that  would  improve 
the  mistake. 

Then  he  shouted,  'Where's  Edith  —  Edith  Cop- 
leigh ?  '  Edith  was  the  younger  sister.  I  answered 
out  of  my  astonishment,  '  What  do  you  want  with 
her? '  For  the  next  two  minutes,  he  and  I  were 
shouting  at  each  other  like  maniacs,  —  he  vowing 
that  it  was  the  younger  sister  he  had  meant  to  pro- 
pose to  all  along,  and  I  telling  him  till  my  throat 
was  hoarse  that  he  must  have  made  a  mistake  !  I 
cannot  account  for  this  except,  again,  by  the  fact 
that  we  were  neither  of  us  ourselves.  Everything 
seemed  to  me  like  a  bad  dream  —  from  the  stamping 
of  the  horses  in  the  darkness  to  Saumarez  telling  me 
the  story  of  his  loving  Edith  Copleigh  from  the  first. 
He  was  still  clawing  my  shoulder  and  begging  me  to 
tell  him  where  Edith  Copleigh  was,  when  another 
lull  came  and  brought  light  with  it,  and  we  saw  the 
tlust-cloud  forming  on  the  plain  in  front  of  us.  So 
Ave  knew  the  worst  was  over.  The  moon  was  low 
down,  and  there  was  just  the  glimmer  of  the  false 
dawn  that  comes  about  an  hour  before  the  real  one. 
But  the  light  was  very  faint,  and  the  dun  cloud  roared 
like  a  bull.  I  wondered  where  Edith  Copleigh  hud 
gone ;  and  as  I  was  wondering  I  saw  three  things 
together  :  First,  Maud  Copleiglf s  face  come  smiling 
out  of  the  darkness  and  move  towards  Saumarez 
wrio  was  standing  6y  me.  I  heard  the  girl  whisper, 


46  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

'George,'  and  slide  her  arm  through  the  arm  that 
was  not  clawing  my  shoulder,  and  I  saw  that  look 
on  her  face  which  only  comes  once  or  twice  in  a  life- 
time —  when  a  woman  is  perfectly  happy  and  the  air 
is  full  of  trumpets  and  gorgeously  coloured  fire  and 
the  Earth  turns  into  cloud  because  she  loves  and  is 
loved.  At  the  same  time,  I  saw  Saumarez's  face  as 
he  heard  Maud  Copleigh's  voice,  and  fifty  yards  away 
from  the  clump  of  orange-trees,  I  saw  a  brown  holland 
habit  getting  upon  a  horse. 

It  must  have  been  my  state  of  over-excitement  that 
made  me  so  ready  to  meddle  with  what  did  not  con- 
cern me.  Saumarez  was  moving  off  to  the  habit ;  but 
I  pushed  him  back  and  said,  'Stop  here  and  explain. 
I'll  fetch  her  back  !  '  And  I  ran  out  to  get  at  my  own 
horse.  I  had  a  perfectly  unnecessary  notion  that  every- 
thing must  be  done  decently  and  in  order,  and  that 
Saumarez's  first  care  was  to  wipe  the  happy  look  out 
of  Maud  Copleigh's  face.  All  the  time  I  was  link- 
ing up  the  curb-chain  I  wondered  how  he  would 
do  it. 

I  cantered  after  Edith  Copleigh,  thinking  to  bring 
her  back  slowly  on  some  pretence  or  another.  But 
she  galloped  away  as  soon  as  she  saw  me,  and  I  was 
forced  to  ride  after  her  in  earnest.  She  called  back 
over  her  shoulder — '  Go  away!  I'm  going  home.  Oh, 
go  away  !  '  two  or  three  times ;  but  my  business  was 
to  catch  her  first,  and  argue  later.  The  ride  fitted 
in  with  the  rest  of  the  evil  dream.  The  ground  was 
very  rough,  and  now  and  again  we  rushed  through 
the  whirling,  choking  '  dust-devils '  in  the  skirts  of 
the  flying  storm.  There  was  a  burning  hot  wind 
blowing  that  brought  up  a  stench  of  stale  brick-kilns 


FALSE  DAWN  47 

with  it;  and  through  the  half  light  and  through  the 
dust-devils,  across  that  desolate  plain,  flickered  the 
brown  holland  habit  on  the  gray  horse.  She  headed 
for  the  Station  at  first.  Then  she  wheeled  round  and 
set  off  for  the  river  through  beds  of  burnt-down  jungle- 
grass,  bad  even  to  ride  pig  over.  In  cold  blood  I 
should  never  have  dreamed  of  going  over  such  a  country 
at  night,  but  it  seemed  quite  right  and  natural  with 
the  lightning  crackling  overhead,  and  a  reek  like  the 
smell  of  the  Pit  in  my  nostrils.  I  rode  and  shouted, 
and  she  bent  forward  and  lashed  her  horse,  and  the 
aftermath  of  the  dust-storm  came  up,  and  caught  us 
both,  and  drove  us  downwind  like  pieces  of  paper. 

I  don't  know  how  far  we  rode  ;  but  the  drumming 
of  the  horse-hoofs  and  the  roar  of  the  wind  and  the 
race  of  the  faint  blood-red  moon  through  the  yellow 
mist  seemed  to  have  gone  on  for  years  and  years,  and 
I  was  literally  drenched  with  sweat  from  my  helmet  to 
my  gaiters  when  the  gray  stumbled,  recovered  himself 
and  pulled  up  dead  lame.  My  brute  was  used  up  alto- 
gether. Edith  Copleigh  was  bareheaded,  plastered 
with  dust,  and  crying  bitterly.  '  Why  can't  you  let 
me  alone  ? '  she  said.  '  I  only  wanted  to  get  away  and 
go  home.  Oh,  please  let  me  go  ! ' 

'  You  have  got  to  come  back  with  me,  Miss  Copleigh. 
Saumarez  has  something  to  say  to  you.' 

It  was  a  foolish  way  of  putting  it ;  but  I  hardly 
knew  Miss  Copleigh,  and,  though  I  was  playing  Provi- 
dence at  the  cost  of  my  horse,  I  could  not  tell  her  in 
as  many  words  what  Saumarez  had  told  me.  I  thought 
he  could  do  that  better  himself.  All  her  pretence 
about  being  tired  and  wanting  to  go  home  broke  down, 
and  she  rocked  herself  to  and  fro  in  the  saddle  as  she 


48  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

sobbed,  and  the  hot  wind  blew  her  black  hair  to  lee- 
ward. I  am  not  going  to  repeat  what  she  said,  because 
she  was  utterly  unstrung. 

This  was  the  cynical  Miss  Copleigh,  and  I,  almost 
an  utter  stranger  to  her,  was  trying  to  tell  her  that 
Saumarez  loved  her  and  she  was  to  come  back  to  hear 
him  say  so.  I  believe  I  made  myself  understood,  for 
she  gathered  the  gray  together  and  made  him  hobble 
somehow,  and  we  set  off  for  the  tomb,  while  the  storm 
went  thundering  down  to  Umballa  and  a  few  big 
drops  of  warm  rain  fell.  I  found  out  that  she  had 
been  standing  close  to  Saumarez  when  he  proposed  to  her 
sister,  and  had  wanted  to  go  home  to  cry  in  peace, 
as  an  English  girl  should.  She  dabbed  her  eyes 
with  her  pocket-handkerchief  as  we  went  along,  and 
babbled  to  me  out  of  sheer  lightness  of  heart  and 
hysteria.  That  was  perfectly  unnatural ;  and  yet,  it 
seemed  all  right  at  the  time  and  in  the  place.  All 
the  world  was  only  the  two  Copleigh  girls,  Saumarez 
and  I,  ringed  in  with  the  lightning  and  the  dark ; 
and  the  guidance  of  this  misguided  world  seemed  to 
lie  in  my  hands. 

When  we  returned  to  the  tomb  in  the  deep  dead 
stillness  that  followed  the  storm,  the  dawn  was  just 
breaking  and  nobody  had  gone  away.  They  were 
waiting  for  our  return.  Saumarez  most  of  all.  His 
face  was  white  and  drawn.  As  Miss  Copleigh  and  I 
limped  up,  he  came  forward  to  meet  us,  and,  when  he 
helped  her  down  from  her  saddle,  he  kissed  her  before 
all  the  picnic.  It  was  like  a  scene  in  a  theatre,  and 
the  likeness  was  heightened  by  all  the  dust-white, 
ghostly  looking  men  and  women  under  the  orange-trees 
clapping  their  hands  —  as  if  they  were  watching  a  play 


FALSE  DAWN  49 

—  at  Saumarez's  choice.  I  never  knew  anything  so 
un-English  in  my  life. 

Lastly,  Saumarez  said  we  must  all  go  home  or  the 
Station  would  come  out  to  look  for  us,  and  would  I 
be  good  enough  to  ride  home  with  Maud  Copleigh? 
Nothing  would  give  me  greater  pleasure,  I  said. 

So  we  formed  up,  six  couples  in  all,  and  went  back 
two  by  two ;  Saumarez  walking  at  the  side  of  Edith 
Copleigh,  who  was  riding  his  horse.  Maud  Copleigh 
did  not  talk  to  me  at  any  length. 

The  air  was  cleared ;  and,  little  by  little,  as  the  sun 
rose,  I  felt  we  were  all  dropping  back  again  into  ordi- 
nary men  and  women,  and  that  the  '  Great  Pop  Picnic ' 
was  a  thing  altogether  apart  and  out  of  the  world  — 
never  to  happen  again.  It  had  gone  with  the  dust- 
storm  and  the  tingle  in  the  hot  air. 

I  felt  tired  and  limp,  and  a  good  deal  ashamed  of 
myself  as  I  went  in  for  a  bath  and  some  sleep. 

There  is  a  woman's  version  of  this  story,  but  it  will 
never  be  written  .  .  .  unless  Maud  Copleigh  cares 
to  try. 


THE   RESCUE   OF  PLUFFLES 

Thus,  for  a  season,  they  fought  it  fair  — 

She  and  his  cousin  May  — 
Tactful,  talented,  debonnaire, 

Decorous  foes  were  they  ; 
But  never  can  battle  of  man  compare 

With  merciless  feminine  fray. 

—  Two  and  One. 

MRS.  HAUKSBEE  was  sometimes  nice  to  her  own 
sex.  Here  is  a  story  to  prove  this ;  and  you  can 
believe  just  as  much  as  ever  you  please. 

Pluffles  was  a  subaltern  in  the  '  Unmentionables. ' 
He  was  callow,  even  for  a  subaltern.  He  was  callow 
all  over  —  like  a  canary  that  had  not  finished  fledging 
itself.  The  worst  of  it  was  that  he  had  three  times  as 
much  money  as  was  good  for  him ;  Pluffles'  Papa  being 
a  rich  man  and  Pluffles  being  the  only  son.  Pluffles' 
Mamma  adored  him.  .  She  was  only  a  little  less  callow 
than  Pluffles,  and  she  believed  everything  he  said. 

Pluffles'  weakness  was  not  believing  what  people 
said.  He  preferred  what  he  called  trusting  to  his  own 
judgment.  He  had  as  much  judgment  as  he  had  seat 
or  hands;  and  this  preference  tumbled  him  into  trouble 
once  or  twice.  But  the  biggest  trouble  Pluffles  ever 
manufactured  came  about  at  Simla  —  some  years  ago, 
when  he  was  four-and-twenty. 

50 


THE  RESCUE  OF  PLUFFLES  51 

He  began  by  trusting  to  his  own  judgment  as 
usual,  and  the  result  was  that,  after  a  time,  he 
was  bound  hand  and  foot  to  Mrs.  Reiver's  'rickshaw 
wheels. 

There  was  nothing  good  about  Mrs.  Reiver,  unless 
it  was  her  dress.  She  was  bad  from  her  hair  —  which 
started  life  on  a  Brittany  girl's  head  —  to  her  boot-heels, 
which  were  two  and  three-eighths  inches  high.  She  was 
not  honestly  mischievous  like  Mrs.  Hauksbee ;  she  was 
wicked  in  a  business-like  way. 

There  was  never  any  scandal  —  she  had  not  generous 
impulses  enough  for  that.  She  was  the  exception 
which  proved  the  rule  that  Anglo-Indian  ladies  are  in 
every  way  as  nice  as  their  sisters  at  Home.  She  spent 
her  life  in  proving  that  rule. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  and  she  hated  each  other  fervently. 
They  hated  far  too  much  to  clash ;  but  the  things  they 
said  of  each  other  were  startling  —  not  to  say  original. 
Mrs.  Hauksbee  was  honest — honest  as  her  own  front- 
teeth  —  and,  but  for  her  love  of  mischief,  would  have 
been  a  woman's  woman.  There  was  no  honesty  about 
Mrs.  Reiver ;  nothing  but  selfishness.  And  at  the 
beginning  of  the  season,  poor  little  Pluffles  fell  a  prey 
to  her.  She  laid  herself  out  to  that  end,  and  who  was 
Pluffles  to  resist?  He  trusted  to  his  judgment,  and 
he  got  judged. 

I  have  seen  Captain  Hayes  argue  with  a  tough  horse — 
I  have  seen  a  tonga-driver  coerce  a  stubborn  pony  —  I 
have  seen  a  riotous  setter  broken  to  gun  by  a  hard  keeper 
—  but  the  breakiug-in  of  Pluilles  of  the  '  Unmention- 
ables '  was  beyond  all  these.  He  learned  to  fetch  and 
carry  like  a  dog,  and  to  wait  like  one,  too,  for  a  word  from 
Mrs.  Reiver.  He  learned  to  keep  appointments  which 


52  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

Mrs.  Reiver  had  no  intention  of  keeping.  He  learned 
to  take  thankfully  dances  which  Mrs.  Reiver  had  no 
intention  of  giving  him.  He  learned  to  shiver  for  an 
hour  and  a  quarter  on  the  windward  side  of  Elysium 
while  Mrs.  Reiver  was  making  up  her  mind  to  come 
for  a  ride.  He  learned  to  hunt  for  a  'rickshaw,  in  a 
light  dress-suit  under  pelting  rain,  and  to  walk  by  the 
side  of  that  'rickshaw  when  he  had  found  it.  He 
learned  what  it  was  to  be  spoken  to  like  a  coolie  and 
ordered  about  like  a  cook.  He  learned  all  this  and 
many  other  things  besides.  And  he  paid  for  his 
schooling. 

Perhaps,  in  some  hazy  way,  he  fancied  that  it  was 
fine  and  impressive,  that  it  gave  him  a  status  among 
men,  and  was  altogether  the  thing  to  do.  It  was 
nobody's  business  to  warn  Pluffles  that  he  was  unwise. 
The  pace  that  season  was  too  good  to  inquire ;  and 
meddling  with  another  man's  folly  is  always  thankless 
work.  Pluffles'  Colonel  should  have  ordered  him  back 
to  his  regiment  when  he  heard  how  things  were  going. 
But  Pluffles  had  got  himself  engaged  to  a  girl  in  Eng- 
land the  last  time  he  went  Home ;  and,  if  there  was 
one  thing  more  than  another  that  the  Colonel  detested, 
it  Avas  a  married  subaltern.  He  chuckled  when  he 
heard  of  the  education  of  Pluffles,  and  said  it  was  good 
training  for  the  boy.  But  it  was  not  good  training 
in  the  least.  It  led  him  into  spending  money  beyond 
his  means,  which  were  good ;  above  that,  the  education 
spoilt  an  average  boy  and  made  it  a  tenth-rate  man 
of  an  objectionable  kind.  He  wandered  into  a  bad 
set,  and  his  little  bill  at  the  jewellers  was  a  thing  to 
wonder  at. 

Then   Mrs.    Hauksbee   rose    to   the    occasion.      She 


THE  RESCUE  OF  PLUFFLES  53 

played  her  game  alone,  knowing  what  people  would  say 
of  her ;  and  she  played  it  for  the  sake  of  a  girl  she  had 
never  seen.  PlufHes'  fiancee  was  to  come  out,  under 
chaperonage  of  an  aunt,  in  October,  to  be  married  to 
Pluffles. 

At  the  beginning  of  August,  Mrs.  Hauksbee  dis- 
covered that  it  was  time  to  interfere.  A  man  who 
rides  much  knows  exactly  what  a  horse  is  going  to  do 
next  before  he  does  it.  In  the  same  way,  a  woman  of 
Mrs.  Hauksbee's  experience  knows  accurately  how  a 
boy  will  behave  under  certain  circumstances — notably 
when  he  is  infatuated  with  one  of  Mrs.  Reiver's  stamp 
She  said  that,  sooner  or  later,  little  Pluffles  would 
break  off  that  engagement  for  nothing  at  all  —  simply 
to  gratify  Mrs.  Reiver,  who,  in  return,  would  keep 
him  at  her  feet  and  in  her  service  just  so  long  as  she 
found  it  worth  her  while.  She  said  she  knew  the 
signs  of  these  things.  If  she  did  not,  no  one  els** 
could. 

Then  she  went  forth  to  capture  Pluflles  under  the 
guns  of  the  enemy ;  just  as  Mrs.  Cusack-Bremmil  carried 
away  Bremmil  under  Mrs.  Hauksbee's  eyes. 

Tliis  particular  engagement  lasted  seven  weeks  — 
we  called  it  the  Seven  Weeks'  War  —  and  was  fought 
out  inch  by  inch  on  both  sides.  A  detailed  accouui 
would  fill  a  book,  and  would  be  incomplete  then.  Any 
one  who  knows  about  these  things  can  fit  in  the  details 
for  himself.  It  was  a  superb  fight  —  there  will  never 
be  another  like  it  as  long  as  Jakko  Hill  stands — and 
Pluffles  was  the  prize  of  victory.  People  said  shame- 
ful things  about  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  They  did  not  know 
what  she  was  playing  for.  Mrs.  Reiver  fought  panly 
because  Phillies  was  useful  to  her,  but  maiiilv  becau-v 


54  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

she  hated  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  and  the  matter  was  a  trial 
of  strength  between  them.  No  one  knows  what  Pluffles 
thought.  He  had  not  many  ideas  at  the  best  of 
times,  and  the  few  he  possessed  made  him  conceited. 
Mrs.  Hauksbee  said,  '  The  boy  must  be  caught ;  and 
the  only  way  of  catching  him  is  by  treating  him 
well.' 

So  she  treated  him  as  a  man  of  the  world  and  of 
experience  so  long  as  the  issue  was  doubtful.  Little 
by  little,  Pluffles  fell  away  from  his  old  allegiance  and 
came  over  to  the  enemy,  by  whom  he  was  made  much 
of.  He  was  never  sent  on  out-post  duty  after  'rick- 
shaws any  more,  nor  was  he  given  dances  which  never 
came  off,  nor  were  the  drains  on  his  purse  continued. 
Mrs.  Hauksbee  held  him  on  the  snaffle ;  and,  after  his 
treatment  at  Mrs.  Reiver's  hands,  he  appreciated  the 
change. 

Mrs.  Reiver  had  broken  him  of  talking  about  him- 
self, and  made  him  talk  about  her  own  merits.  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  acted  otherwise,  and  won  his  confidence,  till 
he  mentioned  his  engagement  to  the  girl  at  Home, 
speaking  of  it  in  a  high  and  mighty  way  as  a  piece 
of  boyish  folly.  This  was  when  he  was  taking  tea 
with  her  one  afternoon,  and  discoursing  in  what  he 
considered  a  gay  and  fascinating  style.  Mrs.  Hauksbee 
had  seen  an  earlier  generation  of  his  stamp  bud  and 
blossom,  and  decay  into  fat  Captains  and  tubby 
Majors. 

At  a  moderate  estimate  there  were  about  three-and- 
twenty  sides  to  that  lady's  character.  Some  men  say 
more.  She  began  to  talk  to  Pluffles  after  the  manner 
of  a  mother,  and  as  if  there  had  been  three  hundred 
years,  instead  of  fifteen,  between  them.  She  spoke 


THE  RESCUE  OF  PLUFFLES  55 

with  a  sort  of  throaty  quaver  in  her  voice  which  had 
a  soothing  effect,  though  what  she  said  was  anything 
but  soothing.  She  pointed  out  the  exceeding  folly, 
not  to  say  meanness,  of  Pluffles'  conduct,  and  the 
smallness  of  his  views.  Then  he  stammered  something 
about  '  trusting  to  his  own  judgment  as  a  man  of  the 
world ' ;  and  this  paved  the  way  for  what  she  wanted 
to  say  next.  It  would  have  withered  up  Pluffles  had 
it  come  from  any  other  woman ;  but,  in  the  soft  cooing 
style  in  which  Mrs.  Hauksbee  put  it,  it  only  made  him 
feel  limp  and  repentant  —  as  if  he  had  been  in  some 
superior  kind  of  church.  Little  by  little,  very  softly 
and  pleasantly,  she  began  taking  the  conceit  out  of 
Pluffles,  as  they  take  the  ribs  out  of  an  umbrella  before 
re-covering  it.  She  told  him  what  she  thought  of  him 
and  his  judgment  and  his  knowledge  of  the  world; 
and  how  his  performances  had  made  him  ridiculous  to 
other  people ;  and  how  it  was  his  intention  to  make 
love  to  herself  if  she  gave  him  the  chance.  Then  she 
said  that  marriage  would  be  the  making  of  him  ;  and 
drew  a  pretty  little  picture  —  all  rose  and  opal  —  of  the 
Mrs.  Pluffles  of  the  future  going  through  life  relying 
on  the  judgment  and  knowledge  of  the  world  of 
a  husband  who  had  nothing  to  reproach  himself 
with.  How  she  reconciled  these  two  statements  she 
alone  knew.  But  they  did  not  strike  Pluffles  as 
conflicting. 

Hers  was  a  perfect  little  homily — much  better  than 
any  clergyman  could  have  given  —  and  it  ended  with 
touching  allusions  to  Pluffles'  Mamma  and  Papa,  and 
the  wisdom  of  taking  his  bride  Home. 

Then  she  sent  Pluffles  out  for  a  walk,  to  think  over 
what  she  had  said.  Pluffles  left,  blowing  his  nose  very 


56  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

hard  and  holding  himself  very  straight.  Mrs.  Hanks- 
bee  laughed. 

What  Pluffles  had  intended  to  do  in  the  matter  of 
the  engagement  only  Mrs.  Reiver  knew,  and  she  kept 
her  own  counsel  to  her  death.  She  would  have  liked 
it  spoiled  as  a  compliment,  I  fancy. 

Pluffles  enjoyed  many  talks  with  Mrs.  Hauksbee 
during  the  next  few  days.  They  were  all  to  the  same 
end,  and  they  helped  Pluffles  in  the  path  of  Virtue. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  wanted  to  keep  him  under  her  wing 
to  the  last.  Therefore  she  discountenanced  his  going 
down  to  Bombay  to  get  married.  'Goodness  only 
knows  what  might  happen  by  the  way !  '  she  said. 
'  Pluffles  is  cursed  with  the  curse  of  Reuben,  and  India 
is  no  fit  place  for  him  !  ' 

In  the  end,  the  fiancee  arrived  with  her  aunt ;  and 
Pluffles,  having  reduced  his  affairs  to  some  sort  of 
order,  —  here  again  Mrs.  Hauksbee  helped  him,  —  was 
married. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  when  both  the 
*  I  wills '  had  been  said,  and  went  her  way. 

Pluffles  took  her  advice  about  going  Home.  He 
left  the  Service  and  is  now  raising  speckled  cattle 
inside  green  painted  fences  somewhere  in  England.  I 
believe  he  does  this  very  judiciously.  He  would  have 
come  to  extreme  grief  in  India. 

For  these  reasons,  if  any  one  says  anything  more 
than  usually  nasty  about  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  tell  him  the 
story  of  the  Rescue  of  Pluffles. 


CUPID'S   ARROWS 

Pit  where  the  buffalo  cooled  his  hide, 

By  the  hot  sun  emptied,  and  blistered  and  dried ; 

Log  in  the  plume-grass,  hidden  and  lone  ; 

Dam  where  the  earth-rat's  mounds  are  strown  ; 

Cave  in  the  bank  where  the  sly  stream  steals ; 

Aloe  that  stabs  at  the  belly  and  heels, 

Jump  if  you  dare  on  a  steed  untried  — 

Safer  it  is  to  go  wide  —  go  wide  ! 

Hark,  from  in  front  where  the  best  men  ride  :  — 

'  Pull  to  the  off,  boys  I    Wide  I    Go  wide  ! ' 

—  The  Peora  Hunt. 

ONCE  upon  a  time  there  lived  at  Simla  a  very  pretty 
girl,  the  daughter  of  a  poor  but  honest  District  and 
Sessions  Judge.  She  was  a  good  girl,  but  could  not 
help  knowing  her  power  and  using  it.  Her  Mamma 
was  very  anxious  about  her  daughter's  future,  as  all 
good  Mammas  should  be. 

When  a  man  is  a  Commissioner  and  a  bachelor  and 
has  the  right  of  wearing  open-work  jam-tart  jewels  in 
gold  and  enamel  on  his  clothes,  and  of  going  through 
a  door  before  every  one  except  a  Member  of  Council,  a 
Lieutenant-Governor,  or  a  Viceroy,  he  is  worth  marry- 
ing. At  least,  that  is  what  ladies  say.  There  was  a 
Commissioner  in  Simla,  in  those  days,  who  was,  and 
wore,  and  did  all  I  have  said.  He  was  a  plain  man  — 

67 


58  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

an  ugly  man  —  the  ugliest  man  in  Asia,  with  two  ex- 
ceptions.  His  was  a  face  to  dream  about  and  try  to 
carve  on  a  pipe-head  afterwards.  His  name  was  Sag- 
gott  —  Barr-Saggott  —  Anthony  Barr-Saggott  and  six 
letters  to  follow.  Departmentally,  he  was  one  of  the 
best  men  the  Government  of  India  owned.  Socially, 
he  was  like  unto  a  blandishing  gorilla. 

When  he  turned  his  attentions  to  Miss  Beighton,  I 
believe  that  Mrs.  Beighton  wept  with  delight  at  the 
reward  Providence  had  sent  her  in  her  old  age. 

Mr.  Beighton  held  his  tongue.  He  was  an  easy- 
going man. 

A  Commissioner  is  very  rich.  His  pay  is  be- 
yond the  dreams  of  avarice  —  is  so  enormous  that  he 
can  afford  to  save  and  scrape  in  a  way  that  would 
almost  discredit  a  Member  of  Council.  Most  Com- 
missioners are  mean;  but  Barr-Saggott  was  an  excep- 
tion. He  entertained  royally;  he  horsed  himself  well ; 
he  gave  dances  ;  he  was  a  power  in  the  land;  and  he 
behaved  as  such. 

Consider  that  everything  I  am  writing  of  took  place 
in  an  almost  pre-historic  era  in  the  history  of  British 
India.  Some  folk  may  remember  the  years  before  lawn- 
tennis  was  born  when  we  all  played  croquet.  There 
were  seasons  before  that,  if  you  will  believe  me,  when 
even  croquet  had  not  been  invented,  and  archery  — 
which  was  revived  in  England  in  1844  —  was  as  great 
a  pest  as  lawn-tennis  is  now.  People  talked  learnedly 
about '  holding  '  and  '  loosing,'  '  steles,'  '  reflexed  bows,' 
'  56-pound  bows,'  '  backed '  or  '  self-yew  bows,'  as  we 
talk  about  *  rallies,'  '  volleys,'  '  smashes,'  '  returns,'  and 
4 16-ounce  rackets.' 

Miss  Beighton  shot  divinely  over  ladies'  distance  — 


CUPID'S  ARROWS  59 

60  yards,  that  is  —  and  was  acknowledged  the  best 
lady  archer  in  Simla.  Men  called  her  '  Diana  of  Tara- 
Devi.' 

Barr-Saggott  paid  her  great  attention;  and,  as  I  have 
said,  the  heart  of  her  mother  was  uplifted  in  consequence. 
Kitty  Heighten  took  matters  more  calmly.  It  was  pleas- 
ant to  be  singled  out  by  a  Commissioner  with  letters 
after  his  name,  and  to  fill  the  hearts  of  other  girls  with 
bad  feelings.  But  there  was  no  denying  the  fact  that 
Barr-Saggott  was  phenomenally  ugly;  and  all  his  at- 
tempts to  adorn  himself  only  made  him  more  grotesque. 
He  was  not  christened  '  The  Langur '  —  which  means 
gray  ape  —  for  nothing.  It  was  pleasant,  Kitty  thought, 
to  have  him  at  her  feet,  but  it  was  better  to  escape 
from  him  and  ride  with  the  graceless  Cubbon  —  the 
man  in  a  Dragoon  Regiment  at  Umballa  —  the  boy  with 
a  handsome  face,  and  no  prospects.  Kitty  liked  Cubbon 
more  than  a  little.  He  never  pretended  for  a  moment 
that  he  was  anything  less  than  head  over  heels  in  love 
with  her  ;  for  he  was  an  honest  boy.  So  Kitty  fled,  now 
and  again,  from  the  stately  wooings  of  Barr-Saggott  to 
the  company  of  young  Cubbon,  and  was  scolded  by  her 
Mamma  in  consequence.  '  But,  Mother,'  she  said, '  Mr. 
Saggott  is  such  —  such  a  —  is  so  fearfully  ugly,  you 
know  !  ' 

'  My  dear,'  said  Mrs.  Beighton,  piously,  '  we  cannot 
be  other  than  an  all-ruling  Providence  has  made  us. 
Besides,  you  will  take  precedence  of  your  own  Mother, 
you  know  !  Think  of  that,  and  be  reasonable.' 

Then  Kitty  put  up  her  little  chin  and  said  irreverent 
things  about  precedence,  and  Commissioners,  and  matri- 
mony. Mr.  Beighton  rubbed  the  top  of  his  head ;  for 
he  was  an  easv-£oin£r  man. 


60  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

Late  in  the  season,  when  he  judged  that  the  time 
was  ripe,  Barr-Saggott  developed  a  plan  which  did 
gTeat  credit  to  his  administrative  powers.  He  arranged 
an  archery -tournament  for  ladies,  with  a  most  sumptuous 
diamond-studded  bracelet  as  prize.  He  drew  up  his 
terms  skilfully,  and  every  one  saw  that  the  bracelet 
was  a  gift  to  Miss  Beighton ;  the  acceptance  carrying 
with  it  the  hand  and  the  heart  of  Commissioner  Barr- 
Saggott.  The  terms  were  a  St.  Leonard's  Round  — 
thirty-six  shots  at  sixty  yards  —  under  the  rules  of  the 
Simla  Toxophilite  Society. 

All  Simla  was  invited.  There  were  beautifully 
arranged  tea-tables  under  the  deodars  at  Annandale, 
where  the  Grand  Stand  is  now ;  and,  alone  in  its  glory, 
winking  in  the  sun,  sat  the  diamond  bracelet  in  a  blue 
velvet  case.  Miss  Beighton  was  anxious  —  almost  too 
anxious  —  to  compete.  On  the  appointed  afternoon 
all  Simla  rode  down  to  Annandale  to  witness  the 
Judgment  of  Paris  turned  upside  down.  Kitty  rode 
with  young  Cubbon,  and  it  was  easy  to  see  that  the 
boy  was  troubled  in  his  mind.  He  must  be  held 
innocent  of  everything  that  followed.  Kitty  was  pale 
and  nervous,  and  looked  long  at  the  bracelet.  Barr- 
Saggott  was  gorgeously  dressed,  even  more  nervous 
than  Kitty,  and  more  hideous  than  ever. 

Mrs.  Beighton  smiled  condescendingly,  as  befitted 
the  mother  of  a  potential  Commissioneress,  and  the 
shooting  began  ;  all  the  world  standing  a  semicircle  as 
the  ladies  came  out  one  after  the  other. 

Nothing  is  so  tedious  as  an  archery  competition. 
They  shot,  and  they  shot,  and  they  kept  on  shooting, 
till  the  sun  left  the  valley,  and  little  breezes  got  up  in 
the  deodars,  and  people  waited  for  Miss  Beighton  to 


CUPID'S  ARROWS  61 

shoot  and  win.  Cubbon  was  at  one  horn  of  the  semi- 
circle round  the  shooters,  and  Barr-Saggott  at  the  other. 
Miss  Beighton  was  last  on  the  list.  The  scoring  had 
been  weak,  and  the  bracelet,  with  Commissioner  Barr- 
Saggott,  was  hers  to  a  certainty. 

The  Commissioner  strung  her  bow  with  his  own 
sacred  hands.  She  stepped  forward,  looked  at  the 
bracelet,  and  her  first  arrow  went  true  to  a  hair  —  full 
into  the  heart  of  the  '  gold '  — •  counting  nine  points. 

Young  Cubbon  on  the  left  turned  white,  and  his 
Devil  prompted  Barr-Saggott  to  smile.  Now  horses 
used  to  shy  when  Barr-Saggott  smiled.  Kitty  saw  that 
smile.  She  looked  to  her  left-front,  gave  an  almost 
imperceptible  nod  to  Cubbon,  and  went  on  shooting. 

I  wish  I  could  describe  the  scene  that  followed. 
It  was  out  of  the  ordinary  and  most  improper.  Miss 
Kitty  fitted  her  arrows  with  immense  deliberation,  so 
that  every  one  might  see  what  she  was  doing.  She 
was  a  perfect  shot ;  and  her  46-pound  bow  suited  her 
to  a  nicety.  She  pinned  the  wooden  legs  of  the  target 
with  great  care  four  successive  times.  She  pinned  the 
wooden  top  of  the  target  once,  and  all  the  ladies  looked 
at  each  other.  Then  she  began  some  fancy  shooting 
at  the  white,  which,  if  you  hit  it,  counts  exactly  one 
point.  She  put  five  arrows  into  the  white.  Ii  was 
wonderful  archery ;  but,  seeing  that  her  business  was 
to  make  'golds'  and  win  the  bracelet,  Barr-Saggott 
turned  a  delicate  green  like  young  water-grass.  Next, 
she  shot  over  Uie  target  twice,  then  wide  to  the  left 
twice  —  always  Avith  the  same  deliberation — Avhile  a 
chilly  hash  fell  over  the  company,  and  Mrs.  Heighton 
took  out  her  handkerchief.  Then  Kitty  shot  al  the 
ground  in  front  of  the  target,  and  split  several  arrows. 


62  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

Then  she  made  a  red  — or  seven  points  —  just  to  show 
what  she  could  do  if  she  liked,  and  she  finished  up  her 
amazing  performance  with  some  more  fancy  shooting 
at  the  target  supports.  Here  is  her  score  as  it  was 
pricked  off :  — 

Gold.      Red.     Blue.   Black.  White.  ™g     ™£ 
Miss  Heighten      1          1          0          0          5          7          21 

Barr-Saggott  looked  as  if  the  last  few  arrow-heads 
had  been  driven  into  his  legs  instead  of  the  target's, 
and  the  deep  stillness  was  broken  by  a  little  snubby, 
mottled,  half-grown  girl  saying  in  a  shrill  voice  of 
triumph,  '  Then  Tve  won  ! ' 

Mrs.  Beighton  did  her  best  to  bear  up ;  but  she 
wept  in  the  presence  of  the  people.  No  training  could 
help  her  through  such  a  disappointment.  Kitty  un- 
strung her  bow  with  a  vicious  jerk,  and  went  back  to 
her  place,  while  Barr-Saggott  was  trying  to  pretend 
that  he  enjoyed  snapping  the  bracelet  on  the  snubby 
girl's  raw,  red  wrist.  It  was  an  awkward  scene  —  most 
awkward.  Every  one  tried  to  depart  in  a  body  and 
leave  Kitty  to  the  mercy  of  her  Mamma. 

But  Cubbon  took  her  away  instead,  and  —  the  rest 
isn't  worth  printing. 


HAUNTED   SUBALTERNS 

So  long  as  the  '  Inextinguishables '  confined  themselves 
to  running  picnics,  gymkhanas,  flirtations  and  inno- 
cences of  that  kind,  no  one  said  anything.  But  when 
they  ran  ghosts,  people  put  up  their  eyebrows.  'Man 
can't  feel  comfy  with  a  regiment  that  entertains 
ghosts  on  its  establishment.  It  is  against  General 
Orders.  The  '  Inextinguishables  '  said  that  the  ghosts 
were  private  and  not  Regimental  property.  They  re- 
ferred you  to  Tesser  for  particulars  ;  and  Tesser  told 
you  to  go  to  —  the  hottest  cantonment  of  all.  He  said 
that  it  was  bad  enough  to  have  men  making  hay  of  his 
bedding  and  breaking  his  banjo-strings  when  he  was 
out,  without  being  chaffed  afterwards  ;  and  he  would 
thank  you  to  keep  your  remarks  on  ghosts  to  yourself. 
This  was  before  the  4  Inextinguishables '  had  sworn 
by  their  several  lady-loves  that  they  were  innocent  of 
any  intrusion  into  Tesser's  quarters.  Then  Horrocks 
mentioned  casually  at  Mess,  that  a  couple  of  white 
figures  had  been  bounding  about  his  room  the  night 
before,  and  he  didn't  approve  of  it.  The  '  Inextin- 
guishables '  denied,  energetically,  that  they  had  had 
any  hand  in  the  manifestations,  and  advised  Horrocks 
to  consult  Tesser. 

I  don't  suppose  that  a  Subaltern  believes  in  anything 
except  bis  chances  of  a  Company  ;  but  Horrocks  and 

63 


64  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

Tesser  were  exceptions.  They  came  to  believe  in  their 
ghosts.  They  had  reason. 

Horrocks  used  to  find  himself,  at  about  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  staring  wide-awake,  watching  two 
white  Things  hopping  about  his  room  and  jumping  up 
to  the  ceiling.  Horrocks  was  of  a  placid  turn  of  mind. 
After  a  week  or  so  spent  in  watching  his  servants,  and 
lying  in  wait  for  strangers,  and  trying  to  keep  awake 
all  night,  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  was 
haunted,  and  that,  consequently,  he  need  not  bother. 
He  wasn't  going  to  encourage  these  ghosts  by  being 
frightened  of  them.  Therefore,  when  he  woke  —  as 
usual  —  with  a  start  and  saw  these  Things  jumping 
like  kangaroos,  he  only  murmured  :  — '  Go  on  !  Don't 
mind  me  !  '  and  went  to  sleep  again. 

Tesser  said  :  — '  It's  all  very  well  for  you  to  make  fun 
of  your  show.  You  can  see  }-our  ghosts.  Now  I  can't 
see  mine,  and  I  don't  half  like  it.' 

Tesser  used  to  come  into  his  room  of  nights,  and  find 
the  whole  of  his  bedding  neatly  stripped,  as  if  it  had 
been  done  with  one  sweep  of  the  hand,  from  the  top 
right-hand  corner  of  the  charpoy  to  the  bottom  left- 
hand  corner.  Also  his  lamp  used  to  lie  weltering  on 
the  floor,  and  generally  his  pet  screw-head,  inlaid, 
nickel-plated  banjo  was  lying  on  the  charpoy,  with  all 
its  strings  broken.  Tesser  took  away  the  strings,  on 
the  occasion  of  the  third  manifestation,  and  the  next 
night  a  man  complimented  him  on  his  playing  the  best 
music  ever  got  out  of  a  banjo,  for  half  an  hour. 

'  Which  half  hour  ?  '  said  Tesser. 

'  Between  nine  and  ten,'  said  the  man.  Tesser  had 
gone  out  to  dinner  at  7.30,  and  had  returned  at 
midnight. 


HAUNTED  SUBALTERNS  65 

He  talked  to  his  bearer  and  threatened  him  with 
unspeakable  things.  The  bearer  was  gray  with  fear  : 
— '  I'm  a  poor  man,'  said  he.  '  If  the  Sahib  is  haunted 
by  a  Devil,  what  can  I  do  ? ' 

4  Who  says  I'm  haunted  by  a  Devil  ?  '  howled  Tesser, 
for  he  was  angry. 

4 1  have  seen  It,'  said  the  bearer,  '  at  night,  walking 
round  and  round  your  bed  ;  and  that  is  why  every- 
thing is  ulta-pulta  in  your  room.  I  am  a  poor  man, 
but  I  never  go  into  your  room  alone.  The  bhisti  comes 
with  me.' 

Tesser  was  thoroughly  savage  at  this,  and  he  spoke 
to  Horrocks,  and  the  two  laid  traps  to  catch  that  Devil, 
and  threatened  their  servants  with  dog-whips  if  any 
more  '  sAazYaw-^e-hanky-panky '  took  place.  But  the 
servants  were  soaked  with  fear,  and  it  was  no  use  add- 
ing to  their  tortures.  When  Tesser  went  out  at  night, 
four  of  his  men,  as  a  rule,  slept  in  the  verandah  of  his 
quarters,  until  the  banjo  without  the  strings  struck  up, 
and  then  they  fled. 

One  day,  Tesser  had  to  put  in  a  month  at  a  Fort  with 
a  detachment  of  '  Inextinguishables.'  The  Fort  might 
have  been  Govindghar,  Jumrood,  or  Phillour  ;  but  it 
wasn't.  He  left  Cantonments  rejoicing,  for  his  Devil 
was  preying  on  Ids  mind  ;  and  with  him  went  another 
Subaltern,  a  junior.  But  the  Devil  came  too.  After 
Tesser  had  been  in  the  Fort  about  ten  days  lie  went 
out  to  dinner.  When  he  came  back  he  found  his  Sub- 
altern doing  sentry  on  a  banquette  across  the  Fort 
Ditch,  as  far  removed  as  might  be  from  the  Officers' 
Quarters. 

k  What's  wrong  ?  '  said  Tesser. 

The  Subaltern  said,  '  Listen  :  '  and  the  two,  stand- 


66  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

ing  under  the  stars,  heard  from  the  Officers'  Quarters, 
high  up  in  the  wall  of  the  Fort,  the  '  strumty  tumty 
tumty  '  of  the  banjo ;  which  seemed  to  have  an  oratorio 
on  hand. 

'That  performance,'  said  the  Subaltern,  'has  been 
going  on  for  three  mortal  hours.  I  never  wished  to 
desert  before,  but  I  do  now.  I  say,  Tesser,  old  man, 
you  are  the  best  of  good  fellows,  I'm  sure,  but  ...  I 
say  .  .  .  look  here,  now,  you  are  quite  unfit  to  live 
with.  'Tisn't  in  my  Commission,  you  know,  that  I'm 
to  serve  under  a  ...  a  ...  man  with  Devils.' 

'  Isn't  it  ? '  said  Tesser.  '  If  you  make  an  ass  of 
yourself  I'll  put  you  under  arrest .  .  .  and  in  my  room  ! ' 

4  You  can  put  me  where  you  please,  but  I'm  not  going 
to  assist  at  these  infernal  concerts.  'Tisn't  right. 
'Tisn't  natural.  Look  here,  I  don't  want  to  hurt  your 
feelings,  but — try  to  think  now — haven't  you  done 
something  —  committed  some  — murder  that  has  slipped 
your  memory  —  or  forged  something  .  .  .  ?  ' 

*  Well !  For  an  all-round,  double-shotted,  half-baked 
fool  you  are  the  .  .  .  ' 

'  I  dare  say  I  am,'  said  the  Subaltern.  '  But  you 
don't  expect  me  to  keep  my  wits  with  that  row  going 
on,  do  you  ?  ' 

The  banjo  was  rattling  away  as  if  it  had  twenty 
strings.  Tesser  sent  up  a  stone,  and  a  shower  of 
broken  window-pane  fell  into  the  Fort  Ditch  ;  but  the 
banjo  kept  on.  Tesser  hauled  the  other  Subaltern  up 
to  the  quarters,  and  found  his  room  in  frightful  con- 
fusion —  lamp  upset,  bedding  all  over  the  floor,  chairs 
overturned,  and  table  tilted  sideways.  He  took  stock  of 
the  wreck  and  said  despairing  :  — '  Oh,  this  is  lovely  ! ' 

The  Subaltern  was  peeping  in  at  the  door. 


HAUNTED  SUBALTERNS  67 

'  I'm  glad  you  think  so,'  he  said.  '  'Tisn't  lovely 
enough  for  me.  I  locked  up  your  room  directly  after 
you  had  gone  out.  See  here,  I  think  you  had  better 
apply  for  Horrocks  to  come  out  in  my  place.  He's 
troubled  with  your  complaint,  and  this  business  will 
make  me  a  jabbering  idiot  if  it  goes  on.' 

Tesser  went  to  bed  amid  the  wreckage,  very  angry, 
and  next  morning  he  rode  into  Cantonments  and  asked 
Horrocks  to  arrange  to  relieve  'that  fool  with  me  now.' 

'  You've  got  'em  again,  have  you  ? '  said  Horrocks. 
'  So've  I.  Three  white  figures  this  time.  We'll  worry 
through  the  entertainment  together.' 

So  Horrocks  and  Tesser  settled  down  in  the  Fort  to- 
gether, and  the  '  Inextinguishables  '  said  pleasant  things 
about  'seven  other  Devils.'  Tesser  didn't  see  where 
the  joke  came  in.  His  room  was  thrown  upside-down 
three  nights  out  of  seven.  Horrocks  was  not  troubled 
in  any  way,  so  his  ghosts  must  have  been  purely  local 
ones.  Tesser,  on  the  other  hand,  was  personally 
haunted  ;  for  his  Devil  had  moved  with  him  from  Can- 
tonments to  the  Fort.  Those  two  boys  spent  three 
parts  of  their  time  trying  to  find  out  who  was  responsi- 
ble for  the  riot  in  Tesser's  rooms.  At  the  end  of  a 
fortnight  they  tried  to  find  out  what  was  responsible ; 
and  seven  days  later  they  gave  it  up  as  a  bad  job. 
Whatever  It  was,  It  refused  to  be  caught ;  even  when 
Tesser  went  out  of  the  Fort  ostentatiously,  and  Hor- 
rocks lay  under  Tesser's  charpoy  with  a  revolver.  The 
servants  were  afraid  —  more  afraid  than  ever  —  and  all 
the  evidence  showed  that  they  had  been  playing  no 
tricks.  As  Tesser  said  to  Horrocks  :  —  'A  haunted 
Subaltern  is  a  joke,  but  s'pose  this  keeps  on.  Just 
think  what  a  haunted  Colonel  would  be !  And  look 


68  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

here  —  s'pose  I  marry  !  D'  you  s'pose  a  girl  would 
live  a  week  with  ine  and  this  Devil  ?  ' 

'  I  don't  know,'  said  Horrocks.  '  I  haven't  married 
often ;  but  I  knew  a  woman  once  who  lived  with  her 
husband  when  he  had  D.  T.  He's  dead  now,  and  I 
dare  say  she  would  marry  you  if  you  asked  her.  She 
isn't  exactly  a  girl  though,  but  she  has  a  large  experi- 
ence of  the  other  devils  —  the  blue  variety.  She's  a 
Government  pensioner  now,  and  you  might  write,  y' 
know.  Personally,  if  I  hadn't  suffered  from  ghosts  of 
my  own,  I  should  rather  avoid  you.' 

'  That's  just  the  point,'  said  Tesser.  '  This  Devil 
thing  will  end  in  getting  me  budnamed,  and  you  know 
I've  lived  on  lemon-squashes  and  gone  to  bed  at  ten  for 
weeks  past.' 

'  'Tisn't  that  sort  of  Devil,'  said  Horrocks.  '  It's 
either  a  first-class  fraud  for  which  some  one  ought  to 
be  killed,  or  else  you've  offended  one  of  these  Indian 
Devils.  It  stands  to  reason  that  such  a  beastly  country 
should  be  full  of  fiends  of  all  sorts.' 

'  But  why  should  the  creature  fix  on  me,'  said  Tes- 
ser, '  and  why  won't  he  show  himself  and  have  it  out 
like  a  —  like  a  Devil  ?  ' 

They  were  talking  outside  the  Mess  after  dark,  and, 
even  as  they  spoke,  they  heard  the  banjo  begin  to  play 
in  Tesser's  room,  about  twenty  yards  off. 

Horrocks  ran  to  his  own  quarters  for  a  shot-gun  and 
a  revolver,  and  Tesser  and  he  crept  up  quietly,  the 
banjo  still  playing,  to  Tesser's  door. 

'  Now  we've  got  It !  '  said  Horrocks,  as  he  threw  the 
door  open  and  let  fly  with  the  twelve-bore  ;  Tesser 
squibbing  off  all  six  barrels  into  the  dark,  as  hard  as 
he  could  pull  trigger. 


HAUNTED  SUBALTERNS  69 

The  furniture  was  ruined,  and  the  whole  Fort  was 
awake  ;  but  that  was  all.  No  one  had  been  killed,  and 
the  banjo  was  lying  on  the  dishevelled  bed-clothes  as 
usual. 

Then  Tesser  sat  down  in  the  verandah,  and  used  lan- 
guage that  would  have  qualified  him  for  the  companion- 
ship of  unlimited  Devils.  Horrocks  said  things  too; 
but  Tesser  said  the  worst. 

When  the  month  in  the  Fort  came  to  an  end,  both 
Horrocks  and  Tesser  were  glad.  They  held  a  final 
council  of  war,  but  came  to  no  conclusion. 

'  'Seems  to  me,  your  best  plan  would  be  to  make  your 
Devil  stretch  himself.  Go  down  to  Bombay  with  the 
time-expired  men,'  said  Horrocks.  '  If  he  really  is  a 
Devil,  he'll  come  in  the  train  with  you.' 

'  'Tisn't  good  enough,'  said  Tesser.  '  Bombay's  no 
fit  place  to  live  in  at  this  time  of  the  year.  But  I'll 
put  in  for  Depot  duty  at  the  Hills.'  And  he  did. 

Now  here  the  tale  rests.  The  Devil  stayed  below, 
and  Tesser  went  up  and  was  free.  If  I  had  invented 
this  story,  I  should  have  put  in  a  satisfactory  ending  — 
explained  the  manifestations  as  somebody's  practical 
joke.  My  business  being  to  keep  to  facts.  I  can  only 
say  what  I  have  said.  The  Devil  may  have  been  a 
hoax.  If  so,  it  was  one  of  the  best  ever  arranged.  If 
it  was  not  a  hoax  .  .  .  but  you.  must  settle  that  for 
yourselves. 


THE   THREE   MUSKETEERS 

An'  when  the  war  began,  we  chased  the  bold  Afghan, 
An'  we  made  the  bloomin'  Ghazi  for  to  flee,  boys  0  I 
An'  we  marched  into  Ka&wZ,  an'  we  tuk  the  Balar  'Issar 
An'  we  taught  'em  to  respec'  the  British  Soldier. 

—  Barrack  Boom  Ballad. 

MULVANEY,  Ortheris,  and  Learoyd  are  Privates  in 
B  Company  of  a  Line  Regiment,  and  personal  friends 
of  mine.  Collectively  I  think,  but  am  not  certain, 
they  are  the  worst  men  in  the  regiment  so  far  as 
genial  blackguardism  goes. 

They  told  me  this  story,  in  the  Umballa  Refresh- 
ment Room  while  we  were  waiting  for  an  up-train.  I 
supplied  the  beer.  The  tale  was  cheap  at  a  gallon 
and  a  half. 

All  men  know  Lord  Benira  Trig.  He  is  a  Duke, 
or  an  Earl,  or  something  unofficial ;  also  a  Peer  ; 
also  a  Globe-trotter.  On  all  three  counts,  as  Ortheris 
says,  ' 'e  didn't  deserve  no  consideration.'  He  was  out 
in  India  for  three  months  collecting  materials  for 
a  book  on  '  Our  Eastern  Impedimenta,'  and  quarter- 
ing himself  upon  everybody,  like  a  Cossack  in  even- 
ing-dress. 

His  particular  vice  —  because  he  was  a  Radical, 
men  said  —  was  having  garrisons  turned  out  for  his 

70 


THE  THREE  MUSKETEERS  71 

inspection.  He  would  then  dine  with  the  Officer  Com- 
manding, and  insult  him,  across  the  Mess  table,  about 
the  appearance  of  the  troops.  That  was  Benira's  way. 

He  turned  out  troops  once  too  often.  He  came  to 
Helanthami  Cantonment  on  a  Tuesday.  He  wished 
to  go  shopping  in  the  bazars  on  Wednesday,  and  he 
'  desired '  the  troops  to  be  turned  out  on  a  Thursday. 
On  —  a  —  Thursday.  The  Officer  Commanding  could 
not  well  refuse  ;  for  Benira  was  a  Lord.  There  was 
an  indignation-meeting  of  subalterns  in  the  Mess  Room, 
to  call  the  Colonel  pet  names. 

'But  the  rale  dimonstrashin,'  said  Mulvaney,  'was 
in  B  Comp'ny  barrick  ;  we  three  headin'  it.' 

Mulvaney  climbed  on  to  the  refreshment-bar, 
settled  himself  comfortably  by  the  beer,  and  went 
on,  '  Whin  the  row  was  at  ut's  foinest  an'  B  Comp'ny 
was  fur  goin'  out  to  murther  this  man  Thrigg  on  the 
p'rade-groun',  Learoyd  here  takes  up  his  helmut  an' 
sez  —  fwhat  was  ut  ye  said?  ' 

'  Ah  said,'  said  Learoyd,  '  gie  us  t'  brass.  Tak'  oop 
a  subseripshun,  lads,  for  to  put  off  t'  p'rade,  an'  if  t' 
p'rade's  not  put  off,  ah'll  gie  t'  brass  back  agean.  Thot's 
wot  ah  said.  All  B  Coonip'ny  knawed  me.  Ah  took 
oop  a  big  subseripshun  —  f ower  rupees  eight  annas  'twas 
—  an'  ah  went  oot  to  turn  t'  job  over.  Mulvaney  an' 
Orth'ris  coom  with  me.' 

'  We  three  raises  the  Divil  in  couples  gin'rally,'  ex- 
plained Mulvaney. 

Here  Ortheris  interrupted.  4'Ave  you  read  the 
papers? '  said  he. 

'  Sometimes,'  I  said. 

'  We  "ad  read  the  papers,  an'  we  put  hup  a  faked 
decoity,  a  —  a  sedukshun.' 


72  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

'  -A5dukshin,  ye  cockney,'  said  Mulvaney. 

'  .A6dukshun  or  sedukshun  —  no  great  odds.  Any'ow, 
we  arranged  to  talk  an'  put  Mister  Benhira  out  o'  the 
way  till  Thursday  was  hover,  or  'e  too  busy  to  rux 
'isself  about  p'raids.  Hi  was  the  man  wot  said, 
"We'll  make  a  few  rupees  off  o'  the  business." 

'We  hild  a  Council  av  War,'  continued  Mulvaney, 
'  walkin'  roun'  by  the  Artill'ry  Lines.  I  was  Prisidint, 
Learoyd  was  Minister  av  Finance,  an'  little  Orth'ris 
here  was ' 

'  A  bloomin'  Bismarck  \  Hi  made  the  'ole  show 
pay.' 

'  This  interferin'  bit  av  a  Benira  man,'  said  Mulvaney, 
'  did  the  thrick  for  us  himself ;  for,  on  me  sowl,  we 
hadn't  a  notion  av  what  was  to  come  afther  the  next 
minut.  He  was  shoppin'  in  the  bazar  on  fut.  'Twas 
dhrawin'  dusk  thin,  an'  we  stud  watchin'  the  little 
man  hoppin'  in  an'  out  av  the  shops,  thryin'  to  injuce 
the  naygurs  to  mallum  his  bat.  Prisintly,  he  sthrols 
up,  his  arrums  full  av  thruck,  an'  he  sez  in  a  consi- 
quinshal  way,  shticking  out  his  little  belly,  "  Me  good 
men,"  sez  he,  "  have  ye  seen  the  Kernel's  b'roosh  ? " 
—  "B'roosh?"  sez  Learoyd.  "There's  no  b'roosh 
here  —  nobbut  p,  TiekTca"  —  "  F  what's  that  ?  "  sez  Thrigg. 
Learoyd  shows  him  wan  down  the  sthreet,  an'  he  sez, 
"  How  thruly  Orientil  !  I  will  ride  on  a  Tickle  a."  I  saw 
thin  that  our  liigimintal  Saint  was  for  givin'  Thrigg 
over  to  us  neck  an'  brisket.  I  purshued  a  hekka,  an' 
I  sez  to  the  dhriver-divil,  I  sez,  "  Ye  black  limb, 
there's  a  Sahib  comin'  for  this  liekka.  He  wants  to  go 
jildi  to  the  Padsahi  Jhil  "  -  'twas  about  tu  moiles  away 
—  "to  shoot  snipe  —  cTiirria.  You  dhrive  Jeliannum 
ke  marfik,  mallum —  like  Hell?  'Tis  no  manner  av  use 


THE  THREE  MUSKETEERS  73 

bukkin'  to  the  Sahib,  bekaze  he  doesn't  samjao  your  talk. 
Av  he  lolos  anything,  just  you  choop  and  cheL  Dekker  ? 
Go  arsty  for  the  first  arder-mile  from  cantoniniiits. 
Thin  chel,  Shaitan  ke  marfik,  an'  the  cJwoper  you  choops 
an'  the  jildier  you  chels  the  better  koosliy  will  that 
Sahib  be  ;  an'  here's  a  rupee  for  ye  ?  " 

'  The  hekka-man  knew  there  was  somethin'  out  av 
the  common  in  the  air.  He  grinned  an'  sez,  "  Bote 
achee!  I  goin'  damn  fast."  I  prayed  that  the  Kernel's 
b'roosh  wudn't  arrive  till  me  darlin'  Benira  by  the 
grace  av  God  was  undher  weigh.  The  little  man  puts 
his  thruck  into  the  hekka  an'  scuttles  in  like  a  fat 
guinea-pig  ;  niver  offerin'  us  the  price  av  a  dhrink  for 
our  services  in  helpin'  him  home.  "  He's  off  to  the 
Padsahi  jhil"  sez  I  to  the  others.' 

Ortheris  took  up  the  tale  — 

'  Jist  then,  little  Buldoo  kim  up,  'oo  was  the  son  of 
one  of  the  Artillery  grooms  —  'e  would  'av  made  a 
'evinly  newspaper-boy  in  London,  bein'  sharp  an'  fly 
to  all  manner  o'  games.  'E  'ad  bin  watchin'  us 
puttin'  Mister  Benhira  into  ?is  temporary  baroush, 
an'  'e  sez,  "  What  'ave  you  been  a  doin'  of,  Sahibs  ? " 
sez  'e.  Learoyd  'e  caught  'im  by  the  ear  an'  'e  sez  — ' 

'  Ah  says,'  went  on  Learoyd, '  "  Young  mon,  that  mon's 
gooin'  to  have  t'  goons  out  o'  Thursday  —  to-morrow  — 
an'  tl lot's  more  work  for  you,  young  mon.  Now,  sitha, 
talc'  a  tat  an'  a  lookri.  an'  ride  tha  domdest  to  t' 
Padsahi  Jliil.  Cotoh  thot  there  hekka.  and  tell  t' 
driver  iv  your  lingo  thot  you've  coom  to  tak'  his 
place.  T'  Sahib  doesn't  speak  t'  bat,  an'  he's  a  little 
mon.  Drive  t'  hckka  into  t'  Padsahi  Jhil  into  t'  watter. 
Leave  t'  Sahib  theer  an'  roon  hoam ;  an'  here's  a  rupee 
for  tha.'" 


74  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

Then  Mulvaney  and  Ortheris  spoke  together  in 
alternate  fragments  :  Mulvaney  leading  [you  must  pick 
out  the  two  speakers  as  best  you  can] :  — '  He  was  a 
knowin'  little  divil  was  Bhuldoo,  —  'e  sez  bote  achee  an' 
cuts  —  wid  a  wink  in  his  oi  — but  Hi  sez  there's  money 
to  be  made  —  an'  I  wanted  to  see  the  ind  av  the  cam- 
paign —  so  Hi  says  we'll  double  hout  to  the  Padsahi 
Jhil  —  an'  save  the  little  man  from  bein'  dacoited  by 
the  murtherin'  Bhuldoo  —  an'  turn  hup  like  reskooers 
in  a  Vic'oria  Melodrama  —  so  we  doubled  for  the  jhil, 
an'  prisintly  there  was  the  divil  av  a  hurroosh  behind 
us  an'  three  bhoys  on  grasscuts'  ponies  come  by, 
poundin'  along  for  the  dear  life  —  s'elp  me  Bob,  hif 
Buldoo  'adn't  raised  a  rig'lar  Tiarmy  of  deceits  —  to  do 
the  job  in  shtile.  An'  we  ran,  an'  they  ran,  shplittin' 
with  laughin',  till  we  gets  near  the  jTiil  —  and  'ears 
sounds  of  distress  floatin'  molloncolly  on  the  hevenin' 
hair.'  [Ortheris  was  growing  poetical  under  the  in- 
fluence of  the  beer.  The  duet  recommenced  :  Mul- 
vaney leading  again.] 

'  Thin  we  heard  Bhuldoo,  the  dacoit,  shoutin'  to  the 
Tiekka  man,  an'  wan  of  the  young  divils  brought  his 
stick  down  on  the  top  av  the  hekka-cover,  an'  Benira 
Thrigg  inside  howled  "  Murther  an'  Death."  Buldoo 
takes  the  reins  and  dhrives  like  mad  for  ibeyhil,  havin' 
dishpersed  the  hekka-dhviveT  —  'oo  cum  up  to  us  an'  'e 
sez,  sez  'e,  "  That  Sahib's  nigh  mad  with  funk !  Wot 
devil's  work  'ave  you  led  me  into?  "  —  "•  Hall  right,'"  sez 
we,  "  you  catch  that  there  pony  an'  come  along.  This 
SahiVs  been  decoited,  an'  we're  going  to  resky  'im !  "  Says 
the  driver,  "  Deceits  !  Wot  deceits?  That's  Buldoo  the 
budmash  "  —  "  Bhuldoo  be  shot !  "  sez  we.  "  'Tis  a  woild 
dissolute  Pathan  frum  the  hills.  There's  about  eight 


THE  THREE  MUSKETEERS  75 

av  thim  coercin'  the  Sahib.  You  remimber  that  an' 
you'll  get  another  rupee  !  "  Thin  we  heard  the  whop- 
whop-ivhop  av  the  hekka  turnin'  over,  an'  a  splash  av 
water  an'  the  voice  av  Benira  Thrigg  callin'  upon  God 
to  forgive  his  sins  —  an'  Buldoo  an'  'is  friends  squotterin' 
in  the  water  like  boys  in  the  Serpentine.' 

Here  the  Three  Musketeers  retired  simultaneously 
into  the  beer. 

'  Well  ?     What  caine  next  ? '  said  I. 

4  Fwhat  nex'  ? '  answered  Mulvaney,  wiping  his 
mouth.  '  Wud  ye  let  three  bould  sodger-bhoys  lave  the 
ornarnint  av  the  House  av  Lords  to  be  dhrowned  an' 
dacoited  in  &jhil  ?  We  formed  line  av  quarther-column 
an'  we  discinded  upon  the  inimy.  For  the  better  part 
av  ten  minutes  you  could  not  hear  yerself  spake.  The 
tattoo  was  screamin'  in  chime  wid  Benira  Thrigg  an' 
Bhuldoo's  army,  an'  the  shticks  was  whistlin'  roun'  the 
hekka,  an'  Orth'ris  was  beatin'  the  hekka-cover  wid  his 
fistes,  an'  Learoyd  yellin',  "  Look  out  for  their  knives!  " 
an'  me  cuttin'  into  the  dark,  right  an'  lef ,  dishpersin' 
arrmy  corps  av  Pathans.  Holy  Mother  av  Moses ! 
'twas  more  disp'rit  than  Ahmid  Kheyl  wid  Maiwund 
thrown  in.  Afther  a  while  Bhuldoo  an'  his  bhoys  flees. 
Have  ye  iver  seen  a  rale  live  Lord  thryiii'  to  hide  his 
nobility  undher  a  f  ut  an'  a  half  av  brown  swamp-wather  ? 
'Tis  the  livin'  image  av  a  water-carrier's  goatskin  wid  the 
shivers.  It  tuk  tonne  to  pershuade  me  frind  Benira 
he  was  not  disimbowilled  :  an'  more  toime  to  get  out 
the  hekkct.  The  dhriver  come  up  afther  the  battle, 
swearin'  he  tuk  a  hand  in  repulsin'  the  inimy. 
Benira  was  sick  wid  the  fear.  We  escorted  him  back, 
very  slow,  to  cantonniints,  for  that  an'  the  chill 
to  soak  into  him.  It  suk !  Glory  be  to  the  Rigi- 


76 

mintil  Saint,  but  it  suk  to  the  marrow  av  Lord  Benira 
Thrigg!' 

Here  Ortheris,  slowly,  with  immense  pride  — '  'E 
sez,  "  You  har  my  noble  preservers,"  sez  'e.  "  You  bar 
a  Aonour  to  the  British  Harmy,"  sez  'e.  With  that  'e 
describes  the  hawful  band  of  dacoits  wot  set  on  'im. 
There  was  about  forty  of  'em  an'  'e  was  hoverpowered 
by  numbers,  so  'e  was  ;  but  'e  never  lorst  'is  presence 
of  mind,  so  'e  didn't.  'E  guv  the  hekka-driver  five 
rupees  for  'is  noble  assistance,  an'  'e  said  'e  would  see 
to  us  after  'e  'ad  spoken  to  the  Kernul.  For  we  was 
a  Aonour  to  the  Regiment,  we  was.' 

'  An'  we  three,'  said  Mulvaney,  with  a  seraphic  smile, 
'  have  dhrawn  the  par-ti-cu-lar  attinshin  av  Bobs  Baha- 
dur more  than  wanst.  But  he's  a  rale  good  little  man 
is  Bobs.  Go  on,  Orth'ris,  my  son.' 

'  Then  we  leaves  'im  at  the  Kernul' s  'ouse,  werry 
sick,  an'  we  cuts  hover  to  B  Comp'ny  barrick  an'  we 
sez  we  'ave  saved  Benira  from  a  bloody  doom,  an'  the 
chances  was  agin  there  bein'  p'raid  on  Thursday.  About 
ten  minutes  later  come  three  envelicks,  one  for  each  of 
us.  S'elp  me  Bob,  if  the  old  bloke  'adn't  guv  us  a  fiver 
apiece  —  sixty-four  rupees  in  the  bazar  !  On  Thursday 
'e  was  in  'orspital  recoverin'  from  'is  sanguinary  en- 
counter with  a  gang  of  Pathans,  an'  B  Comp'ny  was 
drinkin'  'emselves  into  Clink  by  squads.  So  there 
never  was  no  Thursday  p'raid.  But  the  Kernul,  when 
'e  'eard  of  our  galliant  conduct,  'e  sez,  "  Hi  know 
there's  been  some  devilry  somewheres,"  sez  'e,  "  but  I 
can't  bring  it  'ome  to  you  three."' 

'  An'  my  privit  imprisshin  is,'  said  Mulvaney,  getting 
off  the  bar  and  turning  his  glass  upside  down,  '  that, 
av  they  had  known  they  wudn't  have  brought  ut  home. 


THE  THREE  MUSKETEERS  77 

'Tis  flyin'  in  the  face,  firstly  av  Nature,  secon'  av  the 
Rig'lations,  an'  third  the  will  av  Terence  Mulvaney,  to 
hold  p'rades  av  Thursdays.' 

'  Good,  ma  son  ! '  said  Learoyd  ;  '  but,  young  mon, 
what's  t'  notebook  for  ?  ' 

'  Let  be,'  said  Mulvaney ;  '  this  time  next  month 
we're  in  the  Sherapis.  'Tis  immortial  fame  the  gentle- 
man's goin'  to  give  us.  But  kape  it  dliark  till  we're 
out  av  the  ran5e  av  me  little  frind  Bobs  Bahadur.' 

And  I  have  obeyed  Mulvaney's  order. 


Then  a  pile  of  heads  he  laid  — 

Thirty  thousands  heaped  on  high  — 

All  to  please  the  Kafir  maid, 
Where  the  Oxus  ripples  by. 

Grimly  spake  Atulla  Khan  :  — 

'Love  hath  made  this  thing  a  Man.' 

— Oatta'S  Story, 

IF  you  go  straight  away  from  Levees  and  Government 
House  Lists,  past  Trades'  Balls  —  far  beyond  everything 
and  everybody  you  ever  knew  in  your  respectable  life 
—  you  cross,  in  time,  the  Borderline  where  the  last 
drop  of  White  blood  ends  and  the  full  tide  of  Black 
sets  in.  It  would  be  easier  to  talk  to  a  new-made 
Duchess  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  than  to  the  Bor- 
derline folk  without  violating  some  of  their  conventions 
or  hurting  their  feelings.  The  Black  and  the  White 
mix  very  quaintly  in  their  ways.  Sometimes  the  White 
shows  in  spurts  of  fierce,  childish  pride  —  which  is 
Pride  of  Race  run  crooked  —  and  sometimes  the  Black 
in  still  fiercer  abasement  and  humility,  half-heathenish 
customs,  and  strange  unaccountable  impulses  to  crime. 
One  of  these  days,  this  people  —  understand  they  ar& 
far  lower  than  the  class  whence  Derozio,  the  man  who 
imitated  Byron,  sprung  —  will  turn  out  a  writer  or  a 

78 


HIS  CHANCE  IN  LIFE  > 

poet ;  and  then  we  shall  know  how  they  live  and  what 
they  feel.  In  the  meantime,  any  stories  about  them 
cannot  be  absolutely  correct  in  fact  or  inference. 

Miss  Vezzis  came  from  across  the  Borderline  to  look 
after  some  children  who  belonged  to  a  lady  until  a 
regularly  ordained  nurse  could  come  out.  The  lady 
said  Miss  Vezzis  was  a  bad,  dirty  nurse,  and  inatten- 
tive. It  never  struck  her  that  Miss  Vezzis  had  her  own 
life  to  lead  and  her  own  affairs  to  worry  over,  and  that 
these  affairs  were  the  most  important  things  in  the 
world  to  Miss  Vezzis.  Very  few  mistresses  admit  this 
sort  of  reasoning.  Miss  Vezzis  was  as  black  as  a  boot, 
and,  to  our  standard  of  taste,  hideously  ugly.  She  wore 
cotton-print  gowns  and  bulged  shoes ;  and  when  she 
lost  her  temper  with  the  children,  she  abused  them  in 
the  language  of  the  Borderline  —  which  is  part  English, 
part  Portuguese,  and  part  Native.  She  was  not  attrac- 
tive ;  but  she  had  her  pride,  and  she  preferred  being 
called  '  Miss  Vezzis.' 

Every  Sunday,  she  dressed  herself  wonderfully  and 
went  to  see  her  Mamma,  who  lived,  for  the  most  part, 
on  an  old  cane  chair  in  a  greasy  fimwr-silk  dressing- 
gown  and  a  big  rabbit-warren  of  a  house  full  of 
Vezzises,  Pereiras,  Ribieras,  Lisboas  and  Gonsalveses, 
and  a  floating  population  of  loafers  ;  besides  fragments 
of  the  day's  market,  garlic,  stale  incense,  clothes  thrown 
on  the  floor,  petticoats  hung  on  strings  for  screens,  old 
bottles,  pewter  crucifixes,  dried  immortelles,  pariah 
puppies,  plaster  images  of  the  A7irgin,  and  hats  without 
crowns.  Miss  Vezzis  drew  twenty  rupees  a  month  for 
acting  as  nurse,  and  she  squabbled  weekly  with  her 
Mamma  as  to  the  percentage  to  be  given  towards 
housekeeping.  When,  the  quarrel  was  over,  Michele 


80  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

D'Cruze  used  to  shamble  across  the  low  mud  wall  of 
the  compound  and  make  love  to  Miss  Vezzis  after  the 
fashion  of  the  Borderline,  which  is  hedged  about  with 
much  ceremony.  Michele  was  a  poor,  sickly  weed, 
and  very  black ;  but  he  had  his  pride.  He  would  not 
be  seen  smoking  a  huqa  for  anything;  and  he  looked 
down  on  natives  as  only  a  man  with  seven-eighths 
native  blood  in  his  veins  can.  The  Vezzis  Family  had 
their  pride  too.  They  traced  their  descent  from  a 
mythical  platelayer  who  had  worked  on  the  Sone 
Bridge  when  railways  were  new  in  India,  and  they 
valued  their  English  origin.  Michele  was  a  Telegraph 
Signaller  on  Rs.35  a  month.  The  fact  that  he  was  in 
Government  employ  made  Mrs.  Vezzis  lenient  to  the 
shortcomings  of  his  ancestors. 

There  was  a  compromising  legend  —  Dom  Anna  the 
tailor  brought  it  from  Poonani  —  that  a  black  Jew  of 
Cochin  had  once  married  into  the  D'Cruze  family; 
while  it  was  an  open  secret  that  an  uncle  of  Mrs. 
D'Cruze  was,  at  that  very  time,  doing  menial  work, 
'connected  with  cooking,  for  a  Club  in  Southern  India  ! 
He  sent  Mrs.  D'Cruze  seven  rupees  eight  annas  a 
month;  but  she  felt  the  disgrace  to  the  family  very 
keenly  all  the  same. 

However,  in  the  course  of  a  few  Sundays,  Mrs. 
Vezzis  brought  herself  to  overlook  these  blemishes  and 
gave  her  consent  to  the  marriage  of  her  daughter  with 
Michele,  on  condition  that  Michele  should  have  at  least 
fifty  rupees  a  month  to  start  married  life  upon.  This 
wonderful  prudence  must  have  been  a  lingering  touch 
of  the  mythical  platelayer's  Yorkshire  blood ;  for 
across  the  Borderline  people  take  a  pride  in  marrying 
when  they  please  —  not  when  they  can. 


HIS  CHANCE  IN  LIFE  81 

Having  regard  to  his  departmental  prospects,  Miss 
Vezzis  might  as  well  have  asked  Michele  to  go  away 
and  come  back  with  the  Moon  in  his  pocket.  But 
Michele  was  deeply  in  love  with  Miss  Vezzis,  and  that 
.helped  him  to  endure.  He  accompanied  Miss  Vezzis 
to  Mass  one  Sunday,  and  after  Mass,  walking  home 
through  the  hot  stale  dust  with  her  hand  in  his,  he 
swore  by  several  Saints  whose  names  would  not 
interest  you,  never  to  forget  Miss  Vezzis  ;  and  she 
swore  by  her  Honour  and  the  Saints  —  the  oath  runs 
rather  curiously  ;  '  In  nomine  Sanctissimce  — '  (what- 
ever the  name  of  the  she-Saint  is)  and  so  forth,  ending 
with  a  kiss  on  the  forehead,  a  kiss  on  the  left  cheek, 
and  a  kiss  on  the  mouth  —  never  to  forget  Michele. 

Next  week  Michele  was  transferred,  and  Miss 
Vezzis  dropped  tears  upon  the  window-sash  of  the 
*  Intermediate '  compartment  as  he  left  the  Station. 

If  you  look  at  the  telegraph-map  of  India  you  will 
see  a  long  line  skirting  the  coast  from  Backergunge  to 
Madras.  Michele  was  ordered  to  Tibasu,  a  little  Sub- 
office  one-third  down  this  line,  to  send  messages  on 
from  Berhampur  to  Chicacola,  and  to  think  of  Miss 
Vezzis  and  his  chances  of  getting  fifty  rupees  a  month 
out  of  office-hours.  He  had  the  noise  of  the  Bay  of 
Bengal  and  a  Bengali  Babu  for  company ;  nothing 
more.  lie  sent  foolish  letters,  with  crosses  tucked 
inside  the  flaps  of  the  envelopes,  to  Miss  Vezzis. 

When  he  had  been  at  Tibasu  for  nearly  three  weeks 
his  chance  came. 

Never  forget  that  unless  the  outward  and  visible 
signs  of  Our  Authority  are  always  before  a  native  he 
is  as  incapable  as  a  child  of  understanding  what 
authority  means,  or  where  is  the  danger  of  disobeying 


82  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

it.  Tibasu  was  a  forgotten  little  place  with  a  few 
Orissa  Mohammedans  in  it.  These,  hearing  nothing 
of  the  Collector -/Sahib  for  some  time  and  heartily 
despising  the  Hindu  Sub- Judge,  arranged  to  start  a 
little  Mohurrum  riot  of  their  own.  But  the  Hindus 
turned  out  and  broke  their  heads ;  when,  finding  law 
lessness  pleasant,  Hindus  and  Mohammedans  together 
raised  an  aimless  sort  of  Donnybrook  just  to  see  how 
far  they  could  go.  They  looted  each  other's  shops,  and 
paid  off  private  grudges  in  the  regular  way.  It  was  a 
nasty  little  riot,  but  not  worth  putting  in  the  news- 
papers. 

Michele  was  working  in  his  office  when  he  heard 
the  sound  that  a  man  never  forgets  all  his  life — the 
'  ah-yali '  of  an  angry  crowd.  [When  that  sound 
drops  about  three  tones,  and  changes  to  a  thick,  droning 
ut,  the  man  who  hears  it  had  better  go  away  if  he  ia 
alone.]  The  Native  Police  Inspector  ran  in  and  tolcf 
Michele  that  the  town  was  in  an  uproar  and  coming 
to  wreck  the  Telegraph  Office.  The  Babu  put  on  hui 
cap  and  quietly  dropped  out  of  the  window;  while  tha 
Police  Inspector,  afraid,  but  obeying  the  old  race- 
instinct  which  recognises  a  drop  of  White  blood  as  far 
as  it  can  be  diluted,  said,  '  What  orders  does  the 
Sahib  give  ? ' 

The  '  /Sahib '  decided  Michele.  Though  horribly 
frightened,  he  felt  that,  for  the  hour,  he,  the  maw 
with  the  Cochin  Jew  and  the  menial  uncle  in  his 
pedigree,  was  the  only  representative  of  English 
authority  in  the  place.  Then  he  thought  of  Miss 
Vezzis  and  the  fifty  rupees,  and  took  the  situation  on 
himself.  There  were  seven  native  policemen  in  Tibasu, 
and  four  crazy  smooth-bore  muskets  among  them.  ,V1 


HIS  CHANCE  IN  LIFE  83 

the  men  were  gray  with  fear,  but  not  beyond  leading. 
Michele  dropped  the  key  of  the  telegraph  instrument, 
and  went  out,  at  the  head  of  his  army,  to  meet  the 
mob.  As  the  shouting  crew  came  round  a  corner  of 
the  road,  he  dropped  and  fired ;  the  mon  behind  him 
loosing  instinctively  at  the  same  time. 

The  whole  crowd  —  curs  to  the  back-bone  —  yelled 
and  ran ;  leaving  one  man  dead,  and  another  dying  in 
the  road.  Michele  was  sweating  with  fear  ;  but  he 
kept  his  weakness  under,  and  went  down  into  the  town, 
past  the  house  where  the  Sub-Judge  had  barricaded 
himself.  The  streets  were  empty.  Tibasu  was  more 
frightened  than  Michele,  for  the  mob  had  been  taken 
at  the  right  time. 

Michele  returned  to  the  Telegraph  Office,  and  sent 
a  message  to  Chicacola  asking  for  help.  Before  an 
answer  came,  he  received  a  deputation  of  the  elders  of 
Tibasu,  telling  him  that  the  Sub- Judge  said  his  actions 
generally  were  '  unconstitutional,'  and  trying  to  bully 
him.  But  the  heart  of  Michele  D'Cruze  was  big  and 
white  in  his  breast,  because  of  his  love  for  Miss  Vezzis 
the  nurse-girl,  and  because  he  had  tasted  for  the  first 
time  Responsibility  and  Success.  Those  t\vo  make  an 
intoxicating  drink,  and  have  ruined  more  men  than 
ever  has  Whisky.  Michele  answered  that  the  Sub- 
Judge  might  say  what  he  pleased,  but  until  the 
Assistant  Collector  came,  the  Telegraph  Signaller  was 
the  Government  of  India  in  Tibasu,  and  the  elders  of 
the  town  would  be  held  accountable  for  further  riot- 
ing. Then  they  bowed  their  heads  and  said,  '  Show 
mercy  ! '  or  words  to  that  effect;  and  went  back  in 
great  fear ;  each  accusing  the  other  of  having  begun 
the  rioting. 


84  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

Early  in  the  dawn,  after  a  night's  patrol  with  nia 
seven  policemen,  Michele  went  down  the  road,  musket 
in  hand,  to  meet  the  Assistant  Collector,  who  had 
ridden  in  to  quell  Tibasu.  But,  in  the  presence  of  this 
young  Englishman,  Michele  felt  himself  slipping  back 
more  and  more  into  the  native  ;  and  the  tale  of  the 
Tibasu  Riots  ended,  with  the  strain  on  the  teller,  in  an 
hysterical  outburst  of  tears,  bred  by  sorrow  that  he 
had  killed  a  man,  shame  that  he  could  not  feel  as 
uplifted  as  he  had  felt  through  the  night,  and  childish 
anger  that  his  tongue  could  not  do  justice  to  his  great 
deeds.  It  was  the  White  drop  in  Michele's  veins 
dying  out,  though  he  did  not  know  it. 

But  the  Englishman  understood  ;  and,  after  he  had 
schooled  those  men  of  Tibasu,  and  had  conferred  with 
the  Sub- Judge  till  that  excellent  official  turned  green, 
he  found  time  to  draft  an  official  letter  describing  the 
conduct  of  Michele.  Which  letter  filtered  through  the 
Proper  Channels,  and  ended  in  the  transfer  of  Michele 
up-country  once  more,  on  the  Imperial  salary  of  sixty- 
six  rupees  a  month. 

So  he  and  Miss  Vezzis  were  married  with  great  state 
and  ancientry;  and  now  there  are  several  little  D'Cruzes 
Brawling  about  the  verandahs  of  the  Central  Telegraph 
Office. 

But,  if  the  whole  revenue  of  the  Department  he 
serves  were  to  be  his  reward,  Michele  could  never, 
never  repeat  what  he  did  at  Tibasu  for  the  sake  of 
Miss  Vezzis  the  nurse-girl. 

Which  proves  that  when  a  man  does  good  work  out 
of  all  proportion  to  his  pay.  in  seven  cases  out  of  nine 
there  is  a  woman  at  the  back  of  the  virtue. 

The  two  exceptions  must  have  suffered  from  sunstroke. 


What  is  In  the  Brahman's  books  that  is  in  the  Brahman's  hearU 
Neither  you  nor  I  knew  there  was  so  much  evil  in  the  world. 

—  Hindu  Proverb. 

THIS  began  in  a  practical  joke  ;  but  it  has  gone  far 
enough  now,  and  is  getting  serious. 

Platte,  the  Subaltern,  being  poor,  had  a  Waterbury 
watch  and  a  plain  leather  guard. 

The  Colonel  had  a  Waterbury  watch  also,  and,  for 
guard,  the  lip-strap  of  a  curb-chain.  Lip-straps  make 
the  best  watch-guards.  They  are  strong  and  short. 
Between  a  lip-strap  and  an  ordinary  leather-guard 
there  is  no  great  difference ;  between  one  Waterbury 
watch  and  another  none  at  all.  Every  one  in  the 
Station  knew  the  Colonel's  lip-strap.  He  was  not  a 
horsey  man,  but  he  liked  people  to  believe  he  had  been 
one  once ;  and  he  wove  fantastic  stories  of  the  hunting- 
bridle  to  which  this  particular  lip-strap  had  belonged. 
Otherwise  he  was  painfully  religious. 

Platte  and  the  Colonel  were  dressing  at  the  Club  — 
both  late  for  their  engagements,  and  both  in  a  hurry. 
That  was  Kismet.  The  two  watches  were  on  a  shelf 
below  the  looking-glass  —  guards  hanging  down.  That 
was  carelessness.  Platte  changed  first,  snatched  a 
watch,  looked  in  the  glass,  settled  his  tie,  and  ran. 

86 


86  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

Forty  seconds  later,  the  Colonel  did  exactly  the  same 
thing  ;  each  man  taking  the  other's  watch. 

You  may  have  noticed  that  many  religious  people 
are  deeply  suspicious.  They  seem  —  for  purely  re- 
ligious purposes,  of  course  —  to  know  more  about 
iniquity  than  the  Unregenerate.  Perhaps  they  were 
specially  bad  before  they  became  converted  !  At  any 
rate,  in  the  imputation  of  things  evil,  and  in  putting 
the  worst  construction  on  things  innocent,  a  certain 
type  of  good  people  may  be  trusted  to  surpass  all 
others.  The  Colonel  and  his  Wife  were  of  that  type. 
But  the  Colonel's  Wife  was  the  worst.  She  manu- 
factured the  Station  scandal,  and  —  talked  to  her  ayah. 
Nothing  more  need  be  said.  The  Colonel's  Wife  broke 
up  the  Laplaces'  home.  The  Colonel's  Wife  stopped  the 
Ferris-Haughtrey  engagement.  The  Colonel's  Wife 
induced  young  Buxton  to  keep  his  wife  down  in  the 
Plains  through  the  first  year  of  the  marriage.  Where- 
fore little  Mrs.  Buxton  died,  and  the  baby  with  her. 
These  things  will  be  remembered  against  the  Colonel's 
Wife  so  long  as  there  is  a  regiment  in  the  country. 

But  to  come  back  to  the  Colonel  and  Platte.  They 
went  their  several  ways  from  the  dressing-room.  The 
Colonel  dined  with  two  Chaplains,  while  Platte  went 
to  a  bachelor-party,  and  whist  to  follow. 

Mark  how  things  happen !  If  Platte's  groom  had 
put  the  new  saddle-pad  on  the  mare,  the  butts  of  the 
territs  would  not  have  worked  through  the  worn  leather 
and  the  old  pad  into  the  mare's  Avithers,  when  she  was 
coming  home  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  She 
would  not  have  reared,  bolted,  fallen  into  a  ditch,  upset 
the  cart,  and  set  Platte  flying  over  an  aloe-hedge  on 
to  AArs.  Larkyn's  well-kept  lawn ;  and  this  tale  would 


WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT  87 

never  have  been  written.  But  the  mare  did  all  these 
things,  and  while  Platte  was  rolling  over  and  over  on 
the  turf,  like  a  shot  rabbit,  the  watch  and  guard  flew 
from  his  waistcoat  —  as  an  Infantry  Major's  sword  hops 
out  of  the  scabbard  when  they  are  firing  a  feu-de-joie 

—  and  rolled  and  rolled  in  the  moonlight,  till  it  stopped 
under  a  window. 

Platte  stuffed  his  handkerchief  under  the  pad,  put 
the  cart  straight,  and  went  home. 

Mark  again  how  Kismet  works  !  This  would  not 
arrive  once  in  a  hundred  years.  Towards  the  end  of 
his  dinner  with  the  two  Chaplains,  the  Colonel  let  out 
his  waistcoat  and  leaned  over  the  table  to  look  at  some 
Mission  Reports.  The  bar  of  the  watch-guard  worked 
through  the  buttonhole,  and  the  watch  —  Platte's  watch 

—  slid   quietly  on  to  the  carpet.     Where    the   bearer 
found  it  next  morning,  and  kept  it. 

Then  the  Colonel  went  home  to  the  wife  of  his 
bosom  ;  but  the  driver  of  the  carriage  was  drunk  and 
lost  his  way.  So  the  Colonel  returned  at  an  unseemly 
hour,  and  his  excuses  were  not  accepted.  If  the 
Colonel's  Wife  had  been  an  ordinary  vessel  of  wrath 
appointed  for  destruction,  she  would  have  known  that 
when  a  man  stays  away  on  purpose,  his  excuse  is 
always  sound  and  original.  The  very  baldness  of  the 
Colonel's  explanation  proved  its  truth. 

See  once  more  the  workings  of  I&smet.  The 
Colonel's  watch,  which  came  with  Platte  hurriedly  on 
to  Mrs.  Larkyn's  lawn,  chose  to  stop  just  under  Mrs.. 
Larkyn's  window,  where  she  saw  it  early  in  the  morning, 
recognised  it,  and  picked  it  up.  She  had  heard  the 
crash  of  Platte's  cart  at  two  o'clock  that  morning,  and 
his  voice  calling  the  mare  names.  She  knew  Platte 


88  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

and  liked  him.  That  day  she  showed  him  the  watch 
and  heard  his  story.  He  put  his  head  on  one  side, 
winked  and  said,  '  How  disgusting  !  Shocking  old 
man !  With  his  religious  training,  too  !  I  should 
send  the  watch  to  the  Colonel's  Wife  and  ask  for 
explanations.' 

Mrs.  Larkyn  thought  for  a  minute  of  the  Laplaces 
—  whom  she  had  known  when  Laplace  and  his  wife 
believed  in  each  other  —  and  answered,  'I  will  send 
it.  I  think  it  will  do  her  good.  But,  remember,  we 
must  never  tell  her  the  truth.' 

Platte  guessed  that  his  own  watch  was  in  the 
Colonel's  possession,  and  thought  that  the  return  of 
the  lip-strapped  Waterbury  with  a  soothing  note  from 
Mrs.  Larkyn  would  merely  create  a  small  trouble  for  a 
few  minutes.  Mrs.  Larkyn  knew  better.  She  knew 
that  any  poison  dropped  would  find  good  holding- 
ground  in  the  heart  of  the  Colonel's  Wife. 

The  packet,  and  a  note  containing  a  lew  remarks 
on  the  Colonel's  calling-hours,  were  sent  over  to  the 
Colonel's  Wife,  who  wept  in  her  own  room  and  took 
counsel  with  herself. 

If  there  was  one  woman  under  Heaven  whom  the 
Colonel's  Wife  hated  with  holy  fervour,  it  was  Mrs. 
Larkyn.  Mrs.  Larkyn  was  a  frivolous  lady,  and  called 
the  Colonel's  Wife  'old  cat.'  The  Colonel's  Wife  said 
that  somebody  in  Revelation  was  remarkably  like 
Mrs.  Larkyn.  She  mentioned  other  Scripture  people 
as  well.  From  the  Old  Testament.  But  the  Colonel's 
Wife  was  the  only  person  who  cared  or  dared  to  say 
anything  against  Mrs.  Larkyn.  Every  one  else  ac- 
cepted her  as  an  amusing,  honest  little  body.  Where- 
fore, to  believe  that  her  husband  had  been  shedding 


WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT  89 

watches  under  that '  Thing's '  window  at  ungodly  hours, 
coupled  with  the  fact  of  his  late  arrival  on  the  previous 
night,  was  .  .  . 

At  this  point  she  rose  up  and  sought  her  husband. 
He  denied  everything  except  the  ownership  of  the 
watch.  She  besought  him,  for  his  Soul's  sake,  to  speak 
the  truth.  He  denied  afresh,  with  two  bad  words. 
Then  a  stony  silence  held  the  Colonel's  Wife,  while  a 
man  could  draw  his  breath  five  times. 

The  speech  that  followed  is  no  affair  of  mine  or 
yours.  It  was  made  up  of  wifely  and  womanly  jeal- 
ousy ;  knowledge  of  old  age  and  sunk  cheeks  ;  deep 
mistrust  born  of  the  text  that  says  even  little  babies' 
hearts  are  as  bad  as  they  make  them  ;  rancorous  hatred 
of  Mrs.  Larkyn,  and  the  tenets  of  the  creed  of  the 
Colonel's  Wife's  upbringing. 

Over  and  above  all,  was  the  damning  lip-strapped 
Waterbury,  ticking  away  in  the  palm  of  her  shaking, 
withered  hand.  At  that  hour,  I  think,  the  Colonel's 
Wife  realised  a  little  of  the  restless  suspicion  she  had 
injected  into  old  Laplace's  mind,  a  little  of  poor  Miss 
Haughtrey's  misery,  and  some  of  the  canker  that  ate 
into  Buxton's  heart  as  he  watched  his  wife  dying 
before  his  eyes.  The  Colonel  stammered  and  tried  to 
explain.  Then  he  remembered  that  his  watch  had 
disappeared ;  and  the  mystery  grew  greater.  The 
Colonel's  Wife  talked  and  prayed  by  turns  till  she  was 
tired,  and  went  away  to  devise  means  for  chastening 
the  stubborn  heart  of  her  husband.  Which,  translated, 
means,  in  our  slang,  '  tail-twisting.' 

Being  deeply  impressed  with  the  doctrine  of  Original 
Sin,  she  could  not  believe  in  the  face  of  appearances.  She 
knew  too  much,  and  jumped  to  the  wildest  conclusions. 


90  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

But  it  was  good  for  her.  It  spoilt  her  life,  as  she 
had  spoilt  the  life  of  the  Laplaces.  She  had  lost  her 
faith  in  the  Colonel,  and  —  here  the  creed-suspicion 
came  in  —  he  might,  she  argued,  have  erred  many  times, 
before  a  merciful  Providence,  at  the  hands  of  so  un- 
worthy an  instrument  as  Mrs.  Larkyn,  had  established 
his  guilt.  He  was  a  bad,  wicked,  gray-haired  profligate. 
This  may  sound  too  sudden  a  revulsion  for  a  long- 
wedded  wife  ;  but  it  is  a  venerable  fact  that,  if  a  man 
or  woman  makes  a  practice  of,  and  takes  a  delight  in, 
believing  and  spreading  evil  of  people  indifferent  to 
him  or  her,  he  or  she  will  end  in  believing  evil  of  folk 
very  near  and  dear.  You  may  think,  also,  that  the 
mere  incident  of  the  watch  was  too  small  and  trivial 
to  raise  this  misunderstanding.  It  is  another  aged 
fact  that,  in  life  as  well  as  racing,  all  the  worst  accidents 
happen  at  little  ditches  and  cut-down  fences.  In  the 
same  way,  you  sometimes  see  a  woman  who  would 
have  made  a  Joan  of  Arc  in  another  century  and 
climate,  threshing  herself  to  pieces  over  all  the  mean 
worry  of  housekeeping.  But  that  is  another  story. 

Her  belief  only  made  the  Colonel's  Wife  more 
wretched,  because  it  insisted  so  strongly  on  the  villainy 
of  men.  Remembering  what  she  had  done,  it  was 
pleasant  to  watch  her  unhappiness,  and  the  penny- 
farthing  attempts  she  made  to  hide  it  from  the  Station. 
But  the  Station  knew  and  laughed  heartlessly ;  for 
they  had  heard  the  story  of  the  watch,  with  much 
dramatic  gesture,  from  Mrs.  Larkyn's  lips. 

Once  or  twice  Platte  said  to  Mrs.  Larkyn,  seeing 
that  the  Colonel  had  not  cleared  himself,  '  This  thing 
has  gone  far  enough.  I  move  we  tell  the  Colonel's 
Wife  how  it  happened.'  Mrs.  Larkyn  shut  her  lips 


WATCHES  OF  THE  NIGHT  91 

and  shook  her  head,  and  vowed  that  the  Colonel's  Wife 
must  bear  her  punishment  as  best  she  could.  Now 
Mrs.  Larkyn  was  a  frivolous  woman,  in  whom  none 
would  have  suspected  deep  hate.  So  Platte  took  no 
action,  and  came  to  believe  gradually,  from  the 
Colonel's  silence,  that  the  Colonel  must  have  run  off 
the  line  somewhere  that  night,  and,  therefore,  preferred 
to  stand  sentence  on  the  lesser  count  of  rambling  into 
other  people's  compounds  out  of  calling-hours.  Platte 
forgot  about  the  watch  business  after  a  while,  and 
moved  down-country  with  his  regiment.  Mrs.  Larkyn 
went  home  when  her  husband's  tour  of  Indian  service 
expired.  She  never  forgot. 

But  Platte  was  quite  right  when  he  said  that  the 
joke  had  gone  too  far.  The  mistrust  and  the  tragedy 
of  it  —  which  we  outsiders  cannot  see  and  do  not 
believe  in  —  are  killing  the  Colonel's  Wife,  and  are 
making  the  Colonel  wretched.  If  either  of  them  read 
this  story,  they  can  depend  upon  its  being  a  fairly 
true  account  of  the  case,  and  can  kiss  and  make 
friends. 

Shakespeare  alludes  to  the  pleasure  of  watching  an 
Engineer  being  shelled  by  his  own  Battery.  Now  this 
shows  that  poets  should  not  write  about  what  they  do 
not  understand.  Any  one  could  have  told  him  that 
Sappers  and  Gunners  are  perfectly  different  branches 
of  the  Service.  But,  if  you  correct  the  sentence,  and 
substitute  Gunner  for  Sapper,  the  moral  comes  just  the 
same. 


THE   OTHER  MAN 

When  the  Earth  was  sick  and  the  Skies  were  gray 

And  the  woods  were  rotted  with  rain, 
The  Dead  Man  rode  through  the  autumn  day 

To  visit  his  love  again. 

—  Old  Ballad. 

FAK  back  in  the  'seventies,'  before  they  had  built 
any  Public-Offices  at  Simla,  and  the  broad  road  round 
Jakko  lived  in  a  pigeon-hole  in  the  P.  W.  D.  hovels, 
her  parents  made  Miss  Gaurey  marry  Colonel  Schrei- 
derling. He  could  not  have  been  much  more  than 
thirty -five  years  her  senior ;  and,  as  he  lived  on  two 
hundred  rupees  a  month  and  had  money  of  his  own, 
he  was  well  off.  He  belonged  to  good  people,  and 
suffered  in  the  cold  weather  from  lung-complaints. 
In  the  hot  weather  he  dangled  on  the  brink  of  heat- 
apoplexy  ;  but  it  never  quite  killed  him. 

Understand,  I  do  not  blame  Schreiderling.  He  was 
a  good  husband  according  to  his  lights,  and  his  temper 
only  failed  him  when  he  was  being  nursed.  Which 
was  some  seventeen  days  in  each  month.  He  was 
almost  generous  to  his  wife  about  money-matters,  and 
that,  for  him,  was  a  concession.  Still  Mrs.  Schreiderling 
was  not  happy.  They  married  her  when  she  was  this 
side  of  twenty  and  had  given  all  her  poor  little  heart 

92 


THE  OTHER  MAN  'J3 

to  another  man.  I  have  forgotten  his  name,  but  we 
will  call  him  the  Other  Man.  He  had  no  money  and 
no  prospects.  He  was  not  even  good-looking;  and  I 
think  he  was  in  the  Commissariat  or  Transport.  But, 
in  spite  of  all  these  things,  she  loved  him  very  badly ; 
and  there  was  some  sort  of  an  engagement  between  the 
two  when  Schreiderling  appeared  and  told  Mrs.  Gaurey 
that  he  wished  to  marry  her  daughter.  Then  the  other 
engagement  was  broken  off  —  washed  away  by  Mrs. 
Gaurey's  tears,  for  that  lady  governed  her  house  by 
weeping  over  disobedience  to  her  authority  and  the 
lack  of  reverence  she  received  in  her  old  age.  The 
daughter  did  not  take  after  her  mother.  She  never 
cried.  Not  even  at  the  wedding. 

The  Other  Man  bore  his  loss  quietly,  and  was  trans 
ferred  to  as  bad  a  station  as  he  could  find.  Perhaps 
the  climate  consoled  him.  He  suffered  from  inter- 
mittent fever,  and  that  may  have  distracted  him  from 
his  other  trouble.  He  was  weak  about  the  heart  also. 
Both  ways.  One  of  the  valves  was  affected,  and  the 
fever  made  it  worse.  This  showed  itself  later  011. 

Then  many  months  passed,  and  Mrs.  Schreiderling 
took  to  being  ill.  She  did  not  pine  away  like  people 
in  story-books,  but  she  seemed  to  pick  up  every  form 
of  illness  that  went  about  a  Station,  from  simple  fever 
upwards.  She  was  never  more  than  ordinarily  pretty 
at  the  best  of  times  ;  and  the  illnesses  made  her  ugly. 
Schreiderling  said  so.  He  prided  himself  on  speaking 
his  mind. 

When  she  ceased  being  pretty,  he  left  her  to  her 
own  devices,  and  went  back  to  the  lairs  of  his  bachelor- 
dom.  She  used  to  trot  up  and  down  Simla  Mall  in 
a  forlorn  sort  of  way,  with  a  gray  Terai  hat  well  on 


94  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

the  back  of  her  head,  and  a  shocking  bad  saddle  under 
her.  Schreiderling's  generosity  stopped  at  the  horse. 
He  said  that  any  saddle  would  do  for  a  woman  as 
nervous  as  Mrs.  Schreideiiing.  She  never  was  asked 
to  dance,  because  she  did  not  dance  well ;  and  she  was 
so  dull  and  uninteresting  that  her  box  very  seldom  had 
any  cards  in  it.  Schreiderling  said  that  if  he  had 
known  she  was  going  to  be  such  a  scarecrow  after  her 
marriage,  he  would  never  have  married  her.  He  always 
prided  himself  on  speaking  his  mind,  did  Schreiderling. 

He  left  her  at  Simla  one  August,  and  went  down 
to  his  regiment.  Then  she  revived  a  little,  but  she 
never  recovered  her  looks.  I  found  out  at  the  Club 
that  the  Other  Man  was  coining  up  sick  —  very  sick  — • 
on  an  off  chance  of  recovery.  The  fever  and  the  heart- 
valves  had  nearly  killed  him.  She  knew  that  too,  and 
she  knew  —  what  I  had  no  interest  in  knowing  —  when 
he  was  corning  up.  I  suppose  he  wrote  to  tell  her. 
They  had  not  seen  each  other  since  a  month  before  the 
wedding.  And  here  comes  the  unpleasant  part  of  the 
story. 

A  late  call  kept  me  down  at  the  Dovedell  Hotel 
till  dusk  one  evening.  Mrs.  Schreiderling  had  been 
flitting  up  and  down  the  Mall  all  the  afternoon  in  the 
rain.  Coming  up  along  the  Cart-road,  a  tonga  passed 
me,  and  my  pony,  tired  with  standing  so  long,  set  off 
at  a  canter.  Just  by  the  road  down  to  the  Tonga 
Office  Mrs.  Schreiderling,  dripping  from  head  to  foot, 
was  waiting  for  the  tonga.  I  turned  uphill  as  the 
tonga  was  no  affair  of  mine ;  and  just  then  she  began 
to  shriek.  I  went  back  at  once  and  saw,  under  the 
Tonga  Office  lamps,  Mrs.  Schreiderling  kneeling  in  the 
wet  road  by  the  back  seat  of  the  newly  arrived  tonga, 


THE   OTHER  MAN  95 

screaming  hideously.  Then  she  fell  face  down  in  the 
dirt  as  I  came  up. 

Sitting  in  the  back  seat,  very  square  and  firm,  with 
one  hand  on  the  awning-stanchion  and  the  wet  pouring 
off  his  hat  and  moustache,  was  the  Other  Man  —  dead. 
The  sixty-mile  uphill  jolt  had  been  too  much  for  his 
valve,  I  suppose.  The  tonga-driver  said,  '  This  Sahib 
died  two  stages  out  of  Solon.  Therefore,  I  tied  him 
with  a  rope,  lest  he  should  fall  out  by  the  way,  and  so 
came  to  Simla.  Will  the  Sahib  give  me  bukstiish? 
/£,'  pointing  to  the  Other  Man,  '  should  have  given 
one  rupee.' 

The  Other  Man  sat  with  a  grin  on  his  face,  as  if 
he  enjoyed  the  joke  of  his  arrival ;  and  Mrs.  Schrei- 
derling,  in  the  mud,  began  to  groan.  There  was  no 
one  except  us  four  in  the  office  and  it  was  raining 
heavily.  The  first  thing  was  to  take  Mrs.  Schreiderling 
home,  and  the  second  was  to  prevent  her  name  from 
being  mixed  up  with  the  affair.  The  tonga-driver 
received  five  rupees  to  find  a  bazar  'rickshaw  for  Mrs. 
Schreiderling.  He  was  to  tell  the  Tonga  Babu  after- 
wards of  the  Other  Man,  and  the  IJabu  was  to  make 
such  arrangements  as  seemed  best. 

Mrs.  Schreiderling  was  carried  to  the  shed  out  of 
the  rain,  and  for  three-quarters  of  an  hour  we  two 
waited  for  the  'rickshaw.  Tlie  Other  Man  was  left 
exactly  as  he  had  arrived.  Mrs.  Schreiderling  would 
do  everything  but  cry,  which  might  have  helped  her. 
She  tried  to  scream  as  soon  as  her  senses  eanie  haek, 
and  then  she  began  praying  for  the  Oilier  Man's  soul. 
Had  she  not  been  as  honest  as  the  day  she  would  have 
prayed  for  her  own  soul  too.  I  waited  to  hear  her 
do  this,  but  she  did  not.  Then  1  tried  to  get  some 


96  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HTT.T.q 

of  the  mud  off  her  habit.  Lastly,  the  'rickshaw  came, 
and  I  got  her  away  —  partly  by  force.  It  was  a  terrible 
business  from  beginning  to  end ;  but  most  of  all  when 
the  'rickshaw  had  to  squeeze  between  the  wall  and  the 
tonga,  and  she  saw  by  the  lamplight  that  thin,  yellow 
hand  grasping  the  awning-stanchion. 

She  was  taken  home  just  as  every  one  was  going  to 
a  dance  at  Viceregal  Lodge  — '  Peterhoff '  it  was  then 
—  and  the  doctor  found  out  that  she  had  fallen  from 
her  horse,  that  I  had  picked  her  up  at  the  back  of 
Jakko,  and  really  deserved  great  credit  for  the  prompt 
manner  in  which  I  had  secured  medical  aid.  She  did 
not  die — men  of  Schreiderling's  stamp  marry  women 
who  don't  die  easily.  They  live  and  grow  ugly. 

She  never  told  of  her  one  meeting,  since  her  mar- 
riage, with  the  Other  Man ;  and,  when  the  chill  and 
cough  following  the  exposure  of  that  evening  allowed 
her  abroad,  she  never  by  word  or  sign  alluded  to 
having  met  me  by  the  Tonga  Office.  Perhaps  she 
never  knew. 

She  used  to  trot  up  and  down  the  Mall,  on  that 
shocking  bad  saddle,  looking  as  if  she  expected  to  meet 
some  one  round  the  corner  every  minute.  Two  years 
afterwards  she  went  Home,  and  died  —  at  Bourne- 
mouth, I  think. 

Schreiderling,  when  he  grew  maudlin  at  mess,  used 
to  talk  about  'my  poor  dear  wife.'  He  always  set 
great  store  on  speaking  his  mind,  did  Schreiderling. 


CONSEQUENCES 

Rosicrucian  subtleties 

In  the  Orient  had  rise  ; 

Ye  may  find  their  teachers  still 

Under  Jactala's  Hill. 

Seek  ye  Bombast  Paracelsus, 

Read  what  Flood  the  Seeker  tells  us 

Of  the  Dominant  that  runs 

Through  the  Cycles  of  the  Suns  — 

Read  my  story  last,  and  see 

Luna  at  her  apogee. 

THERE  are  yearly  appointments,  and  two-yearly 
appointments,  and  five-yearly  appointments  at  Simla, 
and  there  are,  or  used  to  be,  permanent  appointments, 
whereon  you  stayed  up  for  the  term  of  your  natural 
life  and  secured  red  cheeks  and  a  nice  income.  Of 
course,  you  could  descend  in  the  cold  weather;  for 
Simla  is  rather  dull  then. 

Tarrion  came  from  goodness  knows  where  —  all  away 
and  away  in  some  forsaken  part  of  Central  India,  where 
they  call  Pachmari  a  Sanitarium,  and  drive  behind  trot- 
ting-bullocks,  I  believe.  He  belonged  to  a  regiment ; 
but  what  he  really  wanted  to  do  was  to  escape  from  his 
regiment  and  live  in  Simla  for  ever  and  ever.  He 
had  no  preference  for  anything  in  particular,  beyond  a 
good  horse  and  a  nice  partner.  He  thought  he  could 
H  97 


98  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

do  everything  well ;  which  is  a  beautiful  belief  when  you 
hold  it  with  all  your  heart.  He  was  clever  in  many 
ways,  and  good  to  look  at,  and  always  made  people 
round  him  comfortable  —  even  in  Central  India. 

So  he  went  up  to  Simla,  and,  because  he  was  clever 
and  amusing,  he  gravitated  naturally  to  Mrs.  Hauksbee, 
who  could  forgive  everything  but  stupidity.  Once  he 
did  her  great  service  by  changing  the  date  on  an  invita- 
tion-card for  a  big  dance  which  Mrs.  Hauksbee  wished 
to  attend,  but  couldn't  because  she  had  quarrelled  with 
the  A.-D.-C.,  who  took  care,  being  a  mean  man,  to 
invite  her  to  a  small  dance  on  the  6th  instead  of  the 
big  Ball  of  the  26th.  It  was  a  very  clever  piece  of 
forgery;  and  when  Mrs.  Hauksbee  showed  the  A.-D.-C. 
her  invitation-card,  and  chaffed  him  mildly  for  not 
better  managing  his  vendettas,  he  really  thought  that 
he  had  made  a  mistake  ;  and — which  was  wise  —  realised 
that  it  was  no  use  to  fight  with  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  She 
was  grateful  to  Tarrion  and  asked  what  she  could  do 
for  him.  He  said  simply,  'I'm  a  Freelance  up  here 
on  leave,  on  the  lookout  for  what  I  can  loot.  I  haven't 
a  square  inch  of  interest  in  all  Simla.  My  name  isn't 
known  to  any  man  with  an  appointment  in  his  gift, 
and  I  want  an  appointment  —  a  good,  sound  one. 
I  believe  you  can  do  anything  you  turn  yourself  to. 
Will  you  help  me  ? '  Mrs.  Hauksbee  thought  for  a 
minute,  and  passed  the  lash  of  her  riding-whip  through 
ner  lips,  as  was  her  custom  when  thinking.  Then  her 
eyes  sparkled  and  she  said,  'I  will';  and  she  shook 
hands  on  it.  Tarrion,  having  perfect  confidence  in  this 
great  woman,  took  no  further  thought  of  the  business 
at  all.  Except  to  wonder  what  sort  of  an  appointment- 
he  would  win. 


CONSEQUENCES  99 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  began  calculating  the  prices  of  all 
the  Heads  of  Departments  and  Members  of  Council  she 
knew,  and  the  more  she  thought  the  more  she  laughed, 
because  her  heart  was  in  the  game  and  it  amused  her. 
Then  she  took  a  Civil  List  and  ran  over  a  few  of  the 
appointments.  There  are  some  beautiful  appointments 
in  the  Civil  List.  Eventually,  she  decided  that,  though 
Tarrion  was  too  good  for  the  Political  Department,  she 
had  better  begin  by  trying  to  place  him  there.  Her 
own  plans  to  this  end  do  not  matter  in  the  least,  for 
Luck  or  Fate  played  into  her  hands,  and  she  had 
nothing  to  do  but  to  watch  the  course  of  events  and 
take  the  credit  of  them. 

All  Viceroys,  when  they  first  come  out,  pass  through 
the  Diplomatic  Secrecy  craze.  It  wears  off  in  time  ; 
but  they  all  catch  it  in  the  beginning,  because  they  are 
new  to  the  country.  The  particular  Viceroy  who  was 
suffering  from  the  complaint  just  then  —  this  was  a  long 
time  ago,  before  Lord  Dufferin  ever  came  from  Canada, 
or  Lord  Ripon  from  the  bosom  of  the  English  Church  — 
had  it  very  badly ;  and  the  result  was  that  men  who 
were  new  to  keeping  official  secrets  went  about  looking 
unhappy ;  and  the  Viceroy  plumed  himself  on  the  way 
in  which  he  had  instilled  notions  of  reticence  into  his 
Staff. 

Now,  the  Supreme  Government  have  a  careless 
custom  of  committing  what  they  do  to  printed  papers. 
These  papers  deal  with  all  sorts  of  things  —  from  the 
payment  of  Us. 200  to  a  'secret  service'  native,  up  to 
rebukes  administered  to  Vakils  and  Motamids  of  Native 
States,  and  rather  brusque  letters  to  Native  Princes, 
telling  them  to  put  their  houses  in  order,  to  refrain  from 
kidnapping  women,  or  rilling  offenders  with  pounded 


100  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

red  pepper,  and  eccentricities  of  that  kind.  Of  course, 
these  things  could  never  be  made  public,  because  Native 
Princes  never  err  officially,  and  their  States  are  offi- 
cially as  well  administered  as  Our  territories.  Also, 
the  private  allowances  to  various  queer  people  are  not 
exactly  matters  to  put  into  newspapers,  though  they 
give  quaint  reading  sometimes.  When  the  Supreme 
Government  is  at  Simla,  these  papers  are  prepared  there, 
and  go  round  to  the  people  who  ought  to  see  them  in 
office-boxes  or  by  post.  The  principle  of  secrecy  was 
to  that  Viceroy  quite  as  important  as  the  practice,  and 
he  held  that  a  benevolent  despotism  like  Ours  should 
never  allow  even  little  things,  such  as  appointments  of 
subordinate  clerks,  to  leak  out  till  the  proper  time. 
He  was  always  remarkable  for  his  principles. 

There  was  a  very  important  batch  of  papers  in  pre- 
paration at  that  time.  It  had  to  travel  from  one  end 
of  Simla  to  the  other  by  hand.  It  was  not  put  into  an 
official  envelope,  but  a  large,  square,  pale  pink  one  ;  the 
matter  being  in  MS.  on  soft  crinkly  paper.  It  was 
addressed  to  '  The  Head  Clerk,  etc.  etc.'  Now,  between 
'  The  Head  Clerk,  etc.  etc.'  and  *  Mrs.  Hauksbee '  and 
a  flourish,  is  no  very  great  difference,  if  the  address  be 
written  in  a  very  bad  hand,  as  this  was.  The  orderly 
who  took  the  envelope  was  not  more  of  an  idiot  than 
most  orderlies.  He  merely  forgot  where  this  most 
unofficial  cover  was  to  be  delivered,  and  so  asked  the 
first  Englishman  he  met,  who  happened  to  be  a  man 
riding  down  to  Annandale  in  a  great  hurry.  The 
Englishman  hardly  looked  at  it,  said,  '  Mrs.  Hauksbee,' 
and  went  on.  So  did  the  orderly,  because  that  letter 
was  the  last  in  stock  and  he  wanted  to  get  his  work 
over.  There  was  no  book  to  sign ;  he  thrust  the 


CONSEQUENCES  101 

letter  into  M».s.  Hauksbee's  bearer's  hands  and  went  off 
to  smoke  witii  a  friend.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  was  expecting 
some  cut-out  pattern  things  in  flimsy  paper  from  a 
friend.  As  soon  as  she  got  the  big  square  packet, 
therefore,  she  said,  '  Oh,  the  dear  creature  ! '  and  tore  it 
open  with  a  paper-knife,  and  all  the  MS.  enclosures 
tumbled  out  on  the  floor. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  began  reading.  I  have  said  the 
batch  was  rather  important.  That  is  quite  enough 
for  you  to  know.  It  referred  to  some  correspondence, 
two  measures,  a  peremptory  order  to  a  native  chief, 
and  two  dozen  other  things.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  gasped 
as  she  read,  for  the  first  glimpse  of  the  naked 
machinery  of  the  Great  Indian  Government,  stripped 
of  its  casings,  and  lacquer,  and  paint,  and  guard-rails, 
impresses  even  the  most  stupid  man.  And  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  was  a  clever  woman.  She  was  a  little 
afraid  at  first,  and  felt  as  if  she  had  taken  hold  of 
a  lightning-flash  by  the  tail,  and  did  not  quite  know 
what  to  do  with  it.  There  were  remarks  and  initials 
at  the  side  of  the  papers  ;  and  some  of  the  remarks 
were  rather  more  severe  than  the  papers.  The  initials 
belonged  to  men  who  are  all  dead  or  gone  now ;  but 
they  were  great  in  their  day.  Mrs.  Hauksbee  read 
on  and  thought  calmly  as  she  read.  Then  the  value 
of  her  trove  struck  her,  and  she  cast  about  for  the 
best  method  of  using  it.  Then  Tarrion  dropped  in, 
and  they  read  through  all  the  papers  together,  and 
Tarrion,  not  knowing  how  she  had  come  by  them, 
vowed  that  Mrs.  Hauksbee  was  the  greatest  woman 
on  earth.  Which  I  believe  was  true,  or  nearly  so. 

k  The  honest  course  is  always  the  best,'  said  Tarrion, 
after  an  hour  and  a  half  of  study  and  conversation. 


102  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

'All  things  considered,  the  Intelligence  Branch  is 
about  my  form.  Either  that  or  the  Foreign  Office 
I  go  to  lay  siege  to  the  High  Gods  in  their  Temples.* 

He  did  not  seek  a  little  man,  or  a  little  big  inai>, 
or  a  weak  Head  of  a  strong  Department,  but  he  called 
on  the  biggest  and  strongest  man  that  the  Govern- 
ment owned,  and  explained  that  he  wanted  an  ap- 
pointment at  Simla  on  a  good  salary.  The  compound 
insolence  of  this  amused  the  Strong  Man,  and,  as  he 
had  nothing  to  do  for  the  moment,  he  listened  to 
the  proposals  of  the  audacious  Tarrion.  'You  have, 
I  presume,  some  special  qualifications,  besides  the 
gift  of  self-assertion,  for  the  claims  you  put  forward  ?  ' 
said  the  Strong  Man.  'That,  Sir,'  said  Tarrion,  'is 
for  you  to  judge.'  Then  he  began,  for  he  had  a  good 
memory,  quoting  a  few  of  the  more  important  notes 
in  the  papers  —  slowly  and  one  by  one  as  a  man  drops 
chlorodyne  into  a  glass.  When  he  had  reached  the 
peremptory  order  —  and  it  was  a  very  peremptory 
order  —  the  Strong  Man  was  troubled.  Tarrion  wound 
up  —  'And  I  fancy  that  special  knowledge  of  this 
kind  is  at  least  as  valuable  for,  let  us  say,  a  berth 
in  the  Foreign  Office,  as  the  fact  of  being  the  nephew 
of  a  distinguished  officer's  wife.'  That  hit  the  Strong 
Man  hard,  for  the  last  appointment  to  the  Foreign 
Office  had  been  by  black  favour,  and  he  knew  it. 

'  I'll  see  what  I  can  do  for  you,'  said  the  Strong 
Man. 

'  Many  thanks,'  said  Tarrion.  Then  he  left,  and 
the  Strong  Man  departed  to  see  how  the  appointment 
was  to  be  blocked. 

####### 

Followed  a  pause  of  eleven  days ;    with   thunders 


CONSEQUENCES  103 

and  lightnings  and  much  telegraphing.  The  appoint- 
ment was  not  a  very  important  one,  carrying  only 
between  Rs.500  and  Rs.700  a  month  ;  but,  as  the 
Viceroy  said,  it  was  the  principle  of  diplomatic 
secrecy  that  had  to  be  maintained,  and  it  was  more 
than  likely  that  a  boy  so  well  supplied  with  special 
information  would  be  worth  translating.  So  they 
translated  Tarrion.  They  must  have  suspected  him, 
though  he  protested  that  his  information  was  due  to 
singular  talents  of  his  own.  Now,  much  of  this  story, 
including  the  after-history  of  the  missing  envelope, 
you  must  fill  in  for  yourself,  because  there  are  reasons 
why  it  cannot  be  written.  If  you  do  not  know  about 
things  Up  Above,  you  won't  understand  how  to  fill 
in,  and  you  will  say  it  is  impossible. 

What  the  Viceroy  said  when  Tarrion  was  intro- 
duced to  him  was  — '  This  is  the  boy  who  "  rushed  "  the 
Government  of  India,  is  it  ?  Recollect,  Sir,  that  is 
not  done  twice.'  So  he  must  have  known  something. 

What  Tarrion  said  when  lie  saw  his  appointment 
gazetted  was  —  '  If  Mrs.  Hauksbee  were  twenty  years 
younger,  and  I  her  husband,  I  should  be  Viceroy  of 
India  in  fifteen  years.' 

What  Mrs.  Hauksbee  said,  when  Tarrion  thanked 
her,  almost  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  was  first-  —  'I  told 
you  to  !  '  and  next,  to  herself  — '  What  fools  men  are  I ' 


THE  CONVERSION  OF  AURELIAN  McGOGGIN 

Eide  with  an  idle  whip,  ride  with  an  unused  heel, 
But,  once  in  a  way,  there  will  come  a  day 
When  the  colt  must  be  taught  to  feel 

The  lash  that  falls,  and  the  curb  that  galls,  and  the  sting  of  the 
rowelled  steel. 

—  Life's  Handicap. 

THIS  is  not  a  tale  exactly.     It  is  a  Tract ;  and  I  am 
immensely  proud  of  it.     Making  a  Tract  is  a  Feat. 

Every  man  is  entitled  to  his  own  religious  opinions  ; 
but  no  man  —  least  of  all  a  junior  —  has  a  right  to 
thrust  these  down  other  men's  throats.  The  Govern- 
ment sends  out  weird  Civilians  now  and  again ;  but 
McGoggin  was  the  queerest  exported  for  a  long  time. 
He  was  clever  —  brilliantly  clever  —  but  his  cleverness 
worked  the  wrong  way.  Instead  of  keeping  to  the 
study  of  the  vernaculars,  he  had  read  some  books 
written  by  a  man  called  Comte,  I  think,  and  a  man 
called  Spencer.  [You  will  find  these  books  in  the 
Library.]  They  deal  with  people's  insides  from  the 
point  of  view  of  men  who  have  no  stomachs.  There 
was  no  order  against  his  reading  them  ;  but  his  Mamma 
should  have  smacked  him.  They  fermented  in  his 
head,  and  he  came  out  to  India  with  a  rarefied  religion 
over  and  above  his  work.  It  was  not  much  of  a  creed. 

104 


THE  CONVERSION  OF  AURELIAN  McGOGGIN          105 

It  only  proved  that  men  had  no  souls,  and  there  was 
no  God  and  no  hereafter,  and  that  you  must  worry 
along  somehow  for  the  good  of  Humanity. 

One  of  its  minor  tenets  seemed  to  be  that  the  one 
thing  more  sinful  than  giving  an  order  was  obeying  it. 
At  least,  that  was  what  McGoggin  said  ;  but  I  suspect 
he  had  misread  his  primers. 

I  do  not  say  a  word  against  this  creed.  It  was  made 
up  in  Town  where  there  is  nothing  but  machinery 
and  asphalte  and  building  —  all  shut  in  by  the  fog. 
Naturally,  a  man  grows  to  think  that  there  is  no  one 
higher  than  himself,  and  that  the  Metropolitan  Board 
of  Works  made  everything.  But  in  India,  where  you 
really  see  humanity  —  raw,  brown,  naked  humanity  — 
with  nothing  between  it  and  the  blazing  sky,  and  only 
the  used-up,  over-handled  earth  underfoot,  the  notion 
somehow  dies  away,  and  most  folk  come  back  to 
simpler  theories.  Life,  in  India,  is  not  long  enough  to 
waste  in  proving  that  there  is  no  one  in  particular 
at  the  head  of  affairs.  For  this  reason.  The  Deputy 
is  above  the  Assistant,  the  Commissioner  above  the 
Deputy,  the  Lieutenant-Governor  above  the  Commis- 
sioner, and  the  Viceroy  above  all  four,  under  the 
orders  of  the  Secretary  of  State  who  is  responsible  to 
the  Empress.  If  the  Empress  be  not  responsible  to 
her  Maker  —  if  there  is  no  Maker  for  her  to  be  respon- 
sible to  —  the  entire  system  of  Our  administration  must 
be  wrong.  Which  is  manifestly  impossible.  At 
Home  men  are  to  be  excused.  They  are  stalled  up  a 
good  deal  and  grow  intellectually  'beany-'  When  you 
take  a  gross,  '  beany '  horse  to  exercise,  he  slavers  and 
slobbers  over  the  bit  till  you  can't  see  the  horns. 
But  the  bit  is  there  just  the  same.  Men  do  not  get 


106  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

'beany'   in   India.      The    climate   and   the   work    are 
against  playing  bricks  with  words. 

If  McGoggin  had  kept  his  creed,  with  the  capital 
letters  and  the  endings  in  '  isms,'  to  himself,  no  one 
would  have  cared  ;  but  his  grandfathers  on  both  sides 
had  been  Wesleyan  preachers,  and  the  preaching  strain 
came  out  in  his  mind.  He  wanted  every  one  at  the 
Club  to  see  that  they  had  no  souls  too,  and  to  help  him 
to  eliminate  his  Creator.  As  a  good  many  men  told 
him,  he  undoubtedly  had  no  soul,  because  he  was  so 
young,  but  it  did  not  follow  that  his  seniors  were 
equally  undeveloped  ;  and,  whether  there  was  another 
world  or  not,  a  man  still  wanted  to  read  his  papers  in 
this.  'But  that  is  not  the  point  —  that  is  not  the 
point ! '  Aurelian  used  to  say.  Then  men  threw  sofa- 
cushions  at  him  and  told  him  to  go  to  any  particular 
place  he  might  believe  in.  They  christened  him  the 
'  Blastoderm,'  —  he  said  he  came  from  a  family  of  tha4; 
name  somewhere^  in  the  prehistoric  ages,  —  and,  by 
insult  and  laughter  strove  to  choke  him  dumb,  for  he 
was  an  unmitigated  nuisance  at  the  Club  ;  besides 
being  an  offence  to  the  older  men.  His  Deputy  Com- 
missioner, who  was  working  on  the  Frontier  when 
Aurelian  was  rolling  on  a  bed-quilt,  told  him  that, 
for  a  clever  boy,  Aurelian  was  a  very  big  idiot.  And, 
if  he  had  gone  011  with  his  work,  he  would  have  been 
caught  up  to  the  Secretariat  in  a  few  years,  lie  was 
of  the  type  that  goes  there  —  all  head,  no  physique 
and  a  hundred  theories.  Not  a  soul  was  interested  in 
McGoggin's  soul.  He  might  have  had  two,  or  none, 
or  somebody  else's.  His  business  was  to  obey  orders 
and  keep  abreast  of  his  files,  instead  of  devastating 
the  Club  with  'isms.' 


THE  CONVERSION  OF  AURELIAN  McGOGGIN  107 

He  worked  brilliantly ;  but  he  could  not  accept 
any  order  without  trying  to  better  it.  That  was  the 
fault  of  his  creed.  It  made  men  too  responsible  and 
left  too  much  to  their  honour.  You  can  sometimes 
ride  an  old  horse  in  a  halter ;  but  never  a  colt. 
McGoggin  took  more  trouble  over  his  cases  than  any 
of  the  men  of  his  year.  He  may  have  fancied  that 
thirty -page  judgments  on  fifty-rupee  cases  —  both  sides 
perjured  to  the  gullet  —  advanced  the  cause  of  Human- 
ity. At  any  rate,  he  worked  too  much,  and  worried 
and  fretted  over  the  rebukes  he  received,  and  lectured 
away  on  his  ridiculous  creed  out  of  office,  till  the 
Doctor  had  to  warn  him  that  he  was  overdoing  it. 
No  man  can  toil  eighteen  annas  in  the  rupee  in  June 
without  suffering.  But  McGoggin  was  still  intellectu- 
ally 'beany'  and  proud  of  himself  and  his  powers, 
and  he  would  take  no  hint.  He  worked  nine  hours  a 
day  steadily. 

'  Very  well,'  said  the  Doctor,  '  you'll  break  down,  be- 
cause you  are  over-engined  for  your  beam.'  McGoggin 
was  a  little  man. 

One  day,  the  collapse  came  —  as  dramatically  as  if 
it  had  been  meant  to  embellish  a  Tract. 

It  was  just  before  the  Rains.  We  were  sitting  in 
the  verandah  in  the  dead,  hot,  close  air,  gasping  and 
praj'ing  that  the  black-blue  clouds  would  let  down  and 
bring  the  cool.  Very,  very  far  away,  there  was  a  faint 
whisper,  which  was  the  roar  of  the  Rains  breaking 
over  the  river.  One  of  the  men  heard  it,  got  out  of 
his  chair,  listened  and  said,  naturally  enough,  'Thank 
God!' 

Then  the  Blastoderm  turned  in  his  place  and  said. 
4 Why?  I  assure  you  it's  only  the  result  of  perfectly 


108  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

natural  causes  —  atmospheric  phenomena  of  the  simplest 
kind.  Why  you  should,  therefore,  return  thanks  to  a 
Being  who  never  did  exist  —  who  is  only  a  figment ' 

'  Blastoderm,'  grunted  the  man  in  the  next  chair, 
'  dry  up,  and  throw  me  over  the  Pioneer.  We  know  all 
about  your  figments.'  The  Blastoderm  reached  out  to 
the  table,  took  up  one  paper,  and  jumped  as  if  some- 
thing had  stung  him.  Then  he  handed  the  paper. 

*  As  I  was  saying,'  he  went  on  slowly  and  with  an 
effort  —  '  due  to  perfectly  natural  causes  —  perfectly 
natural  causes.  I  mean ' 

'  Hi  !  Blastoderm,  you've  given  me  the  Calcutta 
Mercantile  Advertiser. ' 

The  dust  got  up  in  little  whorls,  while  the  tree-tops 
rocked  and  the  kites  whistled.  But  no  one  was  looking 
at  the  coming  of  the  Rains.  We  were  all  staring  at 
the  Blastoderm,  who  had  risen  from  his  chair  and  was 
fighting  with  his  speech.  Then  he  said,  still  more 
slowly  — 

'  Perfectly  conceivable dictionary red  oak 

amenable cause retaining  shuttle- 
cock  alone.' 

'  Blastoderm's  drunk,'  said  one  man.  But  the  Blas- 
toderm was  not  drunk.  He  looked  at  us  in  a  dazed 
sort  of  way,  and  began  motioning  with  his  hands  in  the 
half  light  as  the  clouds  closed  overhead.  Then  —  with 
a  scream  — 

'  What  is  it  ? Can't reserve attainable 

market obscure ' 

But  his  speech  seemed  to  freeze  in  him,  and  —  just 
as  the  lightning  shot  two  tongues  that  cut  the  whole 
sky  into  three  pieces  and  the  rain  fell  in  quivering 
sheets — the  Blastoderm  was  struck  dumb.  He  stood 


THE  CONVERSION  OF  AURELIAN  McGOGGIN  109 

pawing  and  champing  like  a  hard-held  horse,  and  his 
eyes  were  full  of  terror. 

The  Doctor  came  over  in  three  minutes,  and  heard 
the  story.  '  It's  aphasia?  he  said.  '  Take  him  to  his 
room.  I  knew  the  smash  would  come.'  We  carried 
the  Blastoderm  across  in  the  pouring  rain  to  his 
quarters,  and  the  Doctor  gave  him  bromide  of  potassium 
to  make  him  sleep. 

Then  the  Doctor  came  back  to  us  and  told  us  that 
aphasia  was  like  all  the  arrears  of  '  Punjab  Head ' 
falling  in  a  lump  ;  and  that  only  once  before  —  in  the 
case  of  a  sepoy  —  had  he  met  with  so  complete  a  case. 
I  have  seen  mild  aphasia  in  an  overworked  man,  but 
this  sudden  dumbness  was  uncanny  —  though,  as  the 
Blastoderm  himself  might  have  said,  due  to  '  perfectly 
natural  causes.' 

'  He'll  have  to  take  leave  after  this,'  said  the  Doctor. 
*  He  won't  be  fit  for  work  for  another  three  months. 
No ;  it  isn't  insanity,  or  anything  like  it.  It's  only 
complete  loss  of  control  over  the  speech  and  memory. 
I  fancy  it  will  keep  the  Blastoderm  quiet,  though.' 

Two  days  later,  the  Blastoderm  found  his  tongue 
again.  The  first  question  he  asked  was  —  'What  was 
it  ? '  The  Doctor  enlightened  him.  '  But  I  can't 
understand  it  ! '  said  the  Blastoderm.  '  I'm  quite  sane  ; 
but  I  can't  be  sure  of  my  mind,  it  seems  —  my  own 
memory  —  can  I  ?  ' 

'  Go  up  into  the  Hills  for  three  months,  and  don't 
think  about  it,'  said  the  Doctor. 

'  But  I  can't  understand  it,'  repeated  the  Blastoderm. 
4  It  was  my  own  mind  and  memory. ' 

'  I  can't  help  it,'  said  the  Doctor  -,  '  there  are  a  good 
many  things  you  can't  understand  ;  and,  by  the  time 


110  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

you  have  put  in  my  length  of  service,  you'll  know 
exactly  how  much  a  man  dare  call  his  own  in  this 
world.' 

The  stroke  cowed  the  Blastoderm.  He  could  not 
understand  it.  He  went  into  the  Hills  in  fear  and 
trembling,  wondering  whether  he  would  be  permitted 
to  reach  the  end  of  any  sentence  he  began. 

This  gave  him  a  wholesome  feeling  of  mistrust. 
The  legitimate  explanation,  that  he  had  been  over- 
working himself,  failed  to  satisfy  him.  Something  had 
wiped  his  lips  of  speech,  as  a  mother  wipes  the  milky 
lips  of  her  child,  and  he  was  afraid  —  horribly  afraid. 

So  the  Club  had  rest  when  he  returned;  and  if 
ever  you  come  across  Aurelian  McGoggin  laying  down 
the  law  on  things  Human  —  he  doesn't  seem  to  know 
as  much  as  he  used  to  about  things  Divine  —  put  your 
forefinger  to  your  lip  for  a  moment,  and  see  what 
happens. 

Don't  blame  me  if  he  throws  a  glass  at  your  head. 


THE  TAKING  OF  LUNGTUNGPEN 

So  we  loosed  a  bloomin'  volley, 
An'  we  made  the  beggars  cut, 
An'  when  our  pouch  was  emptied  out, 
We  used  the  bloomiu'  butt, 
Ho  !     My  ! 

Don't  yer  come  anigh, 

When  Tommy  is  a  play  in'  with  the  bay  nit  an'  the  butt. 

—  Barrack  Boom  Ballad, 

MY  friend  Private  Mulvaney  told  me  this,  sitting  oil 
the  parapet  of  the  road  to  Dagshai,  when  we  were 
hunting  butterflies  together.  He  had  theories  about 
the  Army,  and  coloured  clay  pipes  perfectly.  He  said 
that  the  young  soldier  is  the  best  to  work  with,  '  on 
account  av  the  surpassing  innocinse  av  the  child.' 

'Now,  listen  !'  said  Mulvaney,  throwing  himself  full 
length  on  the  wall  in  the  sun.  '  I'm  a  born  scutt  av 
the  barrick-room  !  The  Army's  mate  an' dhrink  tome, 
beka/.e  I'm  wan  av  the  few  that  can't  quit  ut.  I've 
put  in  sivinteen  years,  an'  the  pipeclay's  in  the  marrow 
av  me.  Av  I  cud  have  kept  out  av  wan  big  dhrink  a 
month,  I  wud  have  been  a  Hon'ry  Lift'nint  by  this 
time  —  a  nuisance  to  my  betthers,  a  laughin'-shtock  to 
my  equils,  au'  a  curse  to  meself.  ISeiif  [what  I  am, 
I'm  Privit  Mulvaney,  wid  no  good-conduc'  pay  an'  a 
devouriu'  thirst.  Always  barrin'  me  little  frind  Bobs 

111 


112  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

Bahadur,  I  know  as  much  about  the  Army  as  most 
men.' 

I  said  something  here. 

'  Wolseley  be  shot !  Betune  you  an'  me  an'  that 
butterfly  net,  he's  a  ramblin',  incoherint  sort  av  a 
divil,  wid  wan  oi  on  the  Quane  an'  the  Coort,  an'  the 
other  on  his  blessed  silf  —  everlastin'ly  playing  Saysar 
an'  Alexandrier  rowled  into  a  lump.  Now  Bobs  is  a 
sinsible  little  man.  Wid  Bobs  an'  a  few  three-year- 
olds,  I'd  swape  any  army  av  the  earth  into  a  towel, 
an'  throw  it  away  afther  wards.  Faith,  I'm  not  jokin' ! 
'Tis  the  bhtfys  —  the  raw  bhoys  —  that  don't  know 
f what  a  bullut  manes,  an'  wudn't  care  av  they  did  — 
that  dhu  the  work.  They're  crammed  wid  bull-mate 
till  they  fairly  ramps  wid  good  livin'  ;  and  thin,  av 
they  don't  fight,  they  blow  each  other's  hids  off.  'Tis 
the  trut'  I'm  tellin'  you.  They  shud  be  kept  on 
water  an'  rice  in  the  hot  weather :  but  there'd  be 
a  mut'ny  av  'twas  done. 

'  Did  ye  iver  hear  how  Privit  Mulvaney  tuk  the 
town  av  Luiigtungpeii?  I  thought  not!  'Twas  the 
Lift'nint  got  the  credit ;  but  'twas  me  planned  the 
schame.  A  little  before  I  was  inviladed  from  Burma, 
me  an'  four-an'-twenty  young  wans  undher  a  Lift'nint 
Brazenose,  was  ruinin'  our  dijeshins  thryin'  to  catch 
dacoits.  An'  such  double-ended  divils  I  niver  knew  ! 
'Tis  only  a  dak  an'  a  Snider  that  makes  a  dacoit. 
Widout  thim,  he's  a  paceful  cultivator,  an'  felony  for 
to  shoot.  We  hunted,  an'  we  hunted,  an'  tuk  fever 
an'  elephints  now  an'  again  ;  but  no  dacoits.  Even- 
shually,  we  puckaroived  wan  man.  "  Trate  him 
tinderly,"  sez  the  Lift'nint.  So  I  tuk  him  away  into 
the  jungle,  wid  the  Burmese  Interprut'r  an'  my  clanin'- 


THE  TAKING  OF  LUNGTUNGPEN         113 

rod.  Sez  I  to  the  man,  "  My  paceful  squireen," 
sez  I,  "you  shquot  on  your  hunkers  an'  dlmonstrate 
to  my  frind  here,  where  your  frinds  are  whin  they're 
at  home  ?  "  Wid  that  I  introduced  him  to  the  clanin'- 
rod,  an'  he  comminst  to  jabber ;  the  Interprut'r 
inteprutin'  in  betweens,  an'  me  helpin'  the  Intilligince 
Departmint  wid  my  clanin'-rod  whin  the  man  misre- 
mimbered. 

'  Prisintly,  I  learn  that,  acrost  the  river,  about  nine 
miles  away,  was  a  town  just  dhrippin'  wid  dahs,  an' 
bohs  an'  arrows,  an'  dacoits,  an'  elephints,  an'  jingles. 
"  Good  !  "  sez  I ;  "this  office  will  now  close  !  " 

'  That  night,  I  went  to  the  Lift'nint  an'  com- 
municates my  information.  I  never  thought  much 
of  Lift'nint  Brazenose  till  that  night.  He  was  shtiff 
wid  books  an'  the-ouries,  an'  all  manner  av  thrimmin's 
no  manner  av  use.  "  Town  did  ye  say  ?  "  sez  he. 
"  Accordin'  to  the  the-ouries  av  War,  we  shud  wait  for 
reinforcemints."  —  "Faith  !"  thinks  I,  "we'd  betther  dig 
our  graves  thin  ;  "  for  the  nearest  throops  was  up  to 
their  shtocks  in  the  marshes  out  Mimbu  way.  "  But," 
says  the  Lift'nint,  "  since  'tis  a  speshil  case,  I'll  make 
an  excepshin.  We'll  visit  this  Lungtungpen  to-night." 

'  The  bhoys  was  fairly  woild  wid  deloight  whin  I 
tould  'em  ;  an',  by  this  an'  that,  they  wint  through 
the  jungle  like  buck-rabbits.  About  midnight  we 
come  to  the  sthrame  which  I  had  clane  forgot  to 
minshin  to  my  orticer.  I  was  on  ahead,  wid  four 
bhoys,  an'  I  thought  that  the  Lift'nint  might  want  to 
the-ourise.  "  Shtrip  bhoys  !  "  sez  I.  "  Shtrip  to  the 
buff,  and  shwim  in  where  glory  waits  !  " — "  But  I  aarit 
shwim !  "  sez  two  av  thim.  "  To  think  I  should  live 
to  hear  that  from  a  bhoy  wid  a  board-school  edukashiu  !  " 


114  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

sez  I.  "  Take  a  lump  av  thimber,  an'  me  an'  Conolly 
here  will  ferry  ye  over,  ye  young  ladies  !  " 

'We  got  an  ould  tree-trunk,  an'  pushed  off  wid 
the  kits  an'  the  rifles  on  it.  The  night  was  chokin' 
dhark,  an'  just  as  we  was  fairly  embarked,  I  heard 
the  Lift'nint  behind  av  me  callin'  out.  "  There's  a 
bit  av  a  nullah  here,  Sorr,"  sez  I,  "  but  I  can  feel  the 
bottom  already."  So  I  cud,  for  I  was  not  a  yard  from 
the  bank. 

' "  Bit  av  a  nullah  !  Bit  av  an  eshtuary !  "  sez  the 
Lift'nint.  "Go  on,  ye  mad  Irishman  !  Shtrip  bhoys  !" 
I  heard  him  laugh ;  an'  the  bhoys  begun  sthrippin' 
an'  rollin'  a  log  into  the  wather  to  put  their  kits  on. 
So  me  an'  Conolly  shtruck  out  through  the  warm 
wather  wid  our  log,  an'  the  rest  come  on  behind. 

'  That  shtrame  was  miles  woide  !  Orth'ris,  on  the 
rear-rank  log,  whispers  we  had  got  into  the  Thames 
below  Sheerness  by  mistake.  "  Kape  on  shwimmin', 
ye  little  blayguard,"  sez  I,  "an'  don't  go  pokin'  your 
dirty  jokes  at  the  Irriwaddy."  —  "  Silince,  men  !  "  sings 
out  the  Lift'nint.  So  we  shwum  on  into  the  black 
dhark,  wid  our  chests  on  the  logs,  trustin'  in  the 
Saints  an'  the  luck  av  the  British  Army. 

4  Evenshually,  we  hit  ground  —  a  bit  av  sand  —  an' 
a  man.  I  put  my  heel  on  the  back  av  him.  He 
skreeched  an'  ran. 

' "  Now  we've  done  it  !  "  sez  Lift'nint  Brazenose. 
"  Where  the  Divil  is  Lungtungpen?  "  There  was  about 
a  minute  and  a  half  to  wait.  The  bhoys  laid  a  hould 
av  their  rifles  an*  some  thried  to  put  their  belts  on  ; 
we  was  marchin'  with  fixed  baj'iiits  av  coorse.  Thin 
we  knew  where  Lungtungpen  was ;  for  we  had  hit  the 
river-wall  av  it  in  the  dhark,  an'  the  whole  town 


THE  TAKING  OF  LUNGTUNGPEN         115 

blazed  wid  thim  messin'  jingles  an'  Sniders  like  a  cat's 
back  on  a  frosty  night.  They  was  firm'  all  ways  at 
wanst ;  but  over  our  hids  into  the  sthrame. 

'  "  Have  you  got  your  rifles  ? "  sez  Brazenose. 
"  Got  'em  !  "  sez  Orth'ris.  "  I've  got  that  thief  Mul- 
vaney's  for  all  my  back-pay,  an'  she'll  kick  my  heart 
sick  wid  that  blunderin'  long  shtock  av  hers." — "Go 
on !  "  yells  Brazenose,  whippin'  his  sword  out.  "  Go 
on  an'  take  the  town !  An'  the  Lord  have  mercy  on 
our  sowls  !  " 

'Thin  the  bhoys  gave  wan  divastatin'  howl,  an' 
pranced  into  the  dhark,  feelin'  for  the  town,  an' 
blindin'  an'  stiffin'  like  Cavalry  Ridin'  Masters  whin 
the  grass  pricked  their  bare  legs.  I  hammered  wid 
the  butt  at  some  bamboo-thing  that  felt  wake,  an'  the 
rest  come  an'  hammered  contagious,  while  the  jingles 
was  jingling,  an'  feroshus  yells  from  inside  was 
shplittin'  our  ears.  We  was  too  close  under  the  wall 
for  thim  to  hurt  us. 

'  Evenshually,  the  thing,  whatever  ut  was,  bruk ; 
an'  the  six-an'-twinty  av  us  tumbled,  wan  after  the 
other,  naked  as  we  were  borrun,  into  the  town  of 
Lungtungpen.  There  was  a  melly  av  a  sumpshus  kind 
for  a  whoile ;  but  whether  they  tuk  us,  all  white  an' 
wet,  for  a  new  breed  av  divil,  or  a  new  kind  av  dacoit, 
I  don't  know.  They  ran  as  though  we  was  both, 
an'  we  wint  into  thim,  baynit  an'  butt,  shriekin'  wid 
laughin'.  There  was  torches  in  the  shtreets,  an'  I 
saw  little  Orth'ris  rubbin'  his  showlther  ivry  time  he 
loosed  my  long-shtock  Martini ;  an'  Bra/.enose  Avalkin' 
into  the  gang  wid  his  sword,  like  Diarmid  av  the 
Gowlden  Collar  —  barring  lie  hadn't  a  stitch  av  eiothin' 
on  him.  We  diskivered  elephints  wid  dacoits  under 


116  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

their  bellies,  an',  what  wid  wan  thing  an'  another,  we 
was  busy  till  mornin'  takin'  possession  av  the  town 
of  Lungtungpen. 

4  Thin  we  halted  an'  formed  up,  the  wimmen  howlin' 
in  the  houses  an'  Lift'nint  Brazenose  blushin'  pink  in 
the  light  av  the  mornin'  sun.  'Twas  the  most  ondasint 
p'rade  I  iver  tuk  a  hand  in.  Foive-and-twenty  privits 
an'  a  orficer  av  the  Line  in  review  ordher,  an'  not  as 
much  as  wud  dust  a  fife  betune  'em  all  in  the  way  of 
clothin' !  Eight  av  us  had  their  belts  an'  pouches 
on ;  but  the  rest  had  gone  in  wid  a  handful  av  car- 
tridges an'  the  skin  God  gave  thim.  They  was  as  nakid 
as  Vanus. 

' "  Number  off  from  the  right !  "  sez  the  Lift'nint. 
4'  Odd  numbers  fall  out  to  dress ;  even  numbers  pathrol 
the  town  till  relieved  by  the  dressing  party."  Let  me 
tell  you,  pathrollin'  a  town  wid  nothing  on  is  an 
experience.  I  pathrolled  for  tin  minutes,  an'  begad, 
before  'twas  over,  I  blushed.  The  women  laughed  so. 
I  niver  blushed  before  or  since ;  but  I  blushed  all 
over  my  carkiss  thin.  Orth'ris  didn't  pathrol.  He  se^ 
only,  "  Portsmith  Barricks  an'  the  'Ard  av  a  Sunday  I ' 
Thin  he  lay  down  an'  rowled  any  ways  wid  laughin'. 

4  Whin  we  was  all  dhressed,  we  counted  the  dead  — 
sivinty-foive  dacoits,  besides  wounded.  We  tuk  five 
elephints,  a  hunder'  an'  sivinty  Sniders,  two  hunder' 
dahs,  and  a  lot  av  other  burglarious  thruck.  Not  a 
man  av  us  was  hurt  —  excep'  maybe  the  Lift'nint,  an' 
he  from  the  shock  to  his  dasincy. 

'  The  Headman  av  Lungtungpen,  who  surrinder'd 
himself,  asked  tli3  Interprut'r  —  "  Av  the  English  fight 
like  that  wid  their  clo'es  off,  what  in  the  wurruld  do 
they  do  wid  their  clo'es  on  ?  "  Orth'ris  began  rowlin' 


THE  TAKING  OF  LUNGTUNGPEN  117 

his  eyes  an'  crackin'  his  fingers  an'  dancin'  a  step-dance 
for  to  impress  the  Headman.  He  ran  to  his  house  ;  an* 
we  spint  the  rest  av  the  day  carryin'  the  Lift'nint  on 
our  sho  withers  round  the  town,  an'  play  in'  wid  the 
Burmese  babies  —  fat,  little,  brown  little  divils,  as 
pretty  as  picturs. 

'  Whin  I  was  inviladed  for  the  dysent'ry  to  India,  I 
sez  to  the  Lift'nint,  "  Son,"  sez  I,  "  you've  the  makin's 
in  you  av  a  great  man ;  but,  av  you'll  let  an  oukl 
sodger  spake,  you're  too  fond  of  the-ourisin'."  He  shuk 
hands  wid  me  and  sez,  "  Hit  high,  hit  low,  there's 
no  plasm'  you,  Mulvaney.  You've  seen  me  waltzin' 
through  Lungtungpen  like  a  Red  Injin  widout  the  war- 
paint, an'  you  say  I'm  too  fond  av  the-ourisin'  ?  "  — 
"  Sorr,"  sez  I,  for  I  loved  the  bhoy,  "  I  wud  waltz  wid 
you  in  that  condishin  through  Hell,  an'  so  wud  the  rest 
av  the  men !  "  Thin  I  wint  downshtrame  in  the  flat 
an'  left  him  my  blessin'.  May  the  Saints  carry  ut 
where  ut  shud  go,  for  he  was  a  fine  upstandin'  young 
orficer. 

'  To  reshume.  Fwhat  I've  said  jist  shows  the  use 
av  three-year-olds.  Wud  fifty  seasoned  sodgers  have 
taken  Lungtungpen  in  the  dhark  that  way?  No  ! 
They'd  know  the  risk  av  fever  and  chill.  Let  alone 
the  shootin'.  Two  hundher'  might  have  done  ut. 
But  the  three-year-olds  know  little  an'  care  less  ;  an' 
where  there's  no  fear,  there's  no  danger.  Catch  thini 
young,  feed  thim  high,  an'  by  the  honour  av  that  great, 
little  man  Bobs,  behind  a  good  orficer  'tisn't  only 
dacoits  they'd  smash  wid  their  clo'es  off  —  'tis  Con-ti- 
nental  Ar-r-r-mies  !  They  tuk  Lungtungpen  nakid  ; 
an'  they'd  take  St.  Pethersburg  in  their  dhrawers ! 
Begad,  they  would  that ! 


118  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

1  Here's  your  pipe,  Sorr.  Shmoke  her  tinderly  wid 
honey-dew,  afther  letting  the  reek  av  the  Canteen  plug 
die  away.  But  'tis  no  good,  thanks  to  you  all  the  same, 
fillin'  my  pouch  wid  your  chopped  hay.  Canteen 
baccy's  like  the  Army.  It  shpoils  a  man's  taste  for 
moilder  things.' 

So  saying,  Mulvaney  took  up  his  butterfly-net,  and 
returned  to  barracks. 


BITTERS   NEAT 

THE  oldest  trouble  in  the  world  comes  from  want  of  un- 
derstanding. And  it  is  entirely  the  fault  of  the  woman. 
Somehow,  she  is  built  incapable  of  speaking  the  truth, 
even  to  herself.  She  only  finds  it  out  about  four  months 
later,  when  the  man  is  dead,  or  has  been  transferred. 
Then  she  says  she  never  was  so  happy  in  her  life,  and 
marries  some  one  else,  who  again  touched  some  woman's 
heart  elsewhere,  and  did  not  know  it,  but  was  mixed  up 
with  another  man's  wife,  who  only  used  him  to  pique  a 
third  man.  And  so  round  again  —  all  criss-cross. 

Out  here,  where  life  goes  quicker  than  at  Home, 
things  are  more  obviously  tangled,  and  therefore  more 
pitiful  to  look  at.  Men  speak  the  truth  as  they 
understand  it,  and  women  as  they  think  men  would 
like  to  understand  it  ;  and  then  they  all  act  lies  which 
would  deceive  Solomon,  and  the  result  is  a  heartrend- 
ing muddle  that  half  a  dozen  open  words  would  put 
straight. 

This  particular  muddle  did  not  differ  from  any  other 
muddle  you  may  see,  if  you  are  not  busy  playing  cross- 
purposes  yourself,  going  on  in  a  big  Station  any  cold 
season.  Its  only  merit  was  that  it  did  not  come  all 
right  in  the  end ;  as  muddles  are  made  to  do  in  the 
third  volume. 

119 


120  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  TTTT.T51 

I've  forgotten  what  the  man  was  —  he  was  an  ordi- 
nary sort  of  man  —  'man  you  meet  any  day  at  the 
A.-D.-C.'s  end  of  the  table,  and  go  away  and  forget 
about.  His  name  was  Surrey ;  but  whether  he  was  in 
the  Army  or  the  P.  W.  D.,  or  the  Commissariat,  or  the 
Police,  or  a  factory,  I  don't  remember.  He  wasn't  a 
Civilian.  He  was  just  an  ordinary  man,  of  the  light- 
coloured  variety,  with  a  fair  moustache  and  with  the 
average  amount  of  pay  that  comes  between  twenty- 
seven  and  thirty-two  —  from  six  to  nine  hundred  a 
month. 

He  didn't  dance,  and  he  did  what  little  riding  he 
wanted  to  do  by  himself,  and  was  busy  in  office  all  day, 
and  never  bothered  his  head  about  women.  No  man 
ever  dreamed  he  would.  He  was  of  the  type  that 
doesn't  marry,  just  because  it  doesn't  think  about  mar- 
riage. He  was  one  of  the  plain  cards,  whose  only  use 
is  to  make  up  the  pack,  and  furnish  background  to 
put  the  Court  cards  against. 

Then  there  was  a  girl  —  ordinary  girl  —  the  dark- 
coloured  variety  —  daughter  of  a  man  in  the  Army, 
who  played  a  little,  sang  a  little,  talked  a  little,  and 
furnished  the  background,  exactly  as  Surrey  did.  She 
had  been  sent  out  here  to  get  married  if  she  could,  be- 
cause there  were  many  sisters  at  home,  and  Colonels' 
allowances  aren't  elastic.  She  lived  with  an  aunt. 
She  was  a  Miss  Tallaght,  and  men  spelt  her  name 
*  Tart '  on  the  programmes  when  they  couldn't  catch 
what  the  introducer  said. 

Surrey  and  she  were  thrown  together  in  the  same 
Station  one  cold  weather  ;  and  the  particular  Devil 
who  looks  after  muddles  prompted  Miss  Tallaght  to 
fall  in  love  with  Surrey.  He  had  spoken  to  her  per- 


BITTERS  NEAT  121 

haps  twenty  times  —  certainly  not  more  —  but  she  fell 
as  unreasoningly  in  love  with  him  as  if  she  had  been 
Elaine  and  he  Lancelot. 

She,  of  course,  kept  her  own  counsel ;  and,  equally 
of  course,  her  manner  to  Surrey,  who  never  noticed 
manner  or  style  or  dress  any  more  than  he  noticed  a 
sunset,  was  icy,  not  to  say  repellent.  The  deadly  dull- 
ness of  Surrey  struck  her  as  a  reserve  of  force,  and  she 
grew  to  believe  he  was  wonderfully  clever  in  some 
secret  and  mysterious  sort  of  line.  She  did  not  know 
what  line  ;  but  she  believed,  and  that  was  enough. 
No  one  suspected  anything  of  any  kind,  for  the  simple 
reason  that  no  one  took  any  deep  interest  in  Miss 
Tallaght  except  her  Aunt ;  who  wanted  to  get  the  girl 
off  her  hands. 

This  went  on  for  some  months,  till  a  man  suddenly 
woke  up  to  the  fact  that  Miss  Tallaght  was  the  one 
woman  in  the  world  for  him,  and  told  her  so.  She 
jawdbed  him  —  without  rhyme  or  reason  ;  and  that 
night  there  followed  one  of  those  awful  bedroom  con- 
ferences that  men  know  nothing  about.  Miss  Tallaght's 
Aunt,  querulous,  indignant,  and  merciless,  with  her 
mouth  full  of  hair-pins,  and  her  hands  full  of  false 
hair-plaits,  set  herself  to  find  out  by  cross-examination 
what  in  the  name  of  everything  wise,  prudent,  religious, 
and  dutiful,  Miss  Tallaght  meant  by  jawabing  her 
suitor.  The  conference  lasted  for  an  hour  and  a  half, 
with  question  on  question,  insult  and  reminders  of 
poverty  —  appeals  to  Providence,  then  a  fresh  mouthful 
of  hair-pins  —  then  all  the  questions  over  again,  begin- 
ning with  :  —  '  But  what  do  you  see  to  dislike  in  Mr. 
—  ? '  then,  a  vicious  tug  at  what  was  left  of  the 
mane  ;  then  impressive  warnings  and  more  appeals  to 


122  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

Heaven  ;  and  then  the  collapse  of  poor  Miss  Tallaght, 
a  rumpled,  crumpled,  tear-stained  arrangement  in  white 
on  the  couch  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and,  between  sobs 
and  gasps,  the  whole  absurd  little  story  of  her  love  for 
Surrey. 

Now,  in  all  the  forty-five  years'  experience  of  Miss 
Tallaght's  Aunt,  she  had  never  heard  of  a  girl  throwing 
over  a  real  genuine  lover  with  an  appointment,  for  a 
problematical,  hypothetical  lover  to  whom  she  had 
spoken  merely  in  the  course  of  the  ordinary  social 
visiting  rounds.  So  Miss  Tallaght's  Aunt  was  struck 
dumb,  and,  merely  praying  that  Heaven  might  direct 
Miss  Tallaght  into  a  better  frame  of  mind,  dismissed 
the  ayah,  and  went  to  bed ;  leaving  Miss  Tallaght  to 
sob  and  moan  herself  to  sleep. 

Understand  clearly,  I  don't  for  a  moment  defend 
Miss  Tallaght.  She  was  wrong  —  absurdly  wrong  — 
but  attachments  like  hers  must  sprout  by  the  law  of 
averages,  just  to  remind  people  that  Love  is  as  nakedly 
unreasoning  as  when  Venus  first  gave  him  his  kit  and 
told  him  to  run  away  and  play. 

Surrey  must  be  held  innocent  —  innocent  as  his  own 
pony.  Could  he  guess  that,  when  Miss  Tallaght  was 
as  curt  and  as  unpleasing  as  she  knew  how,  she  would 
have  risen  up  and  followed  him  from  Colombo  to  Dadar 
at  a  word  ?  He  didn't  know  anything,  or  cai  e  any- 
thing about  Miss  Tallaght.  He  had  his  work  to  do. 

Miss  Tallaght's  Aunt  might  have  respected  her 
niece's  secret.  But  she  didn't.  What  we  call  'talk- 
ing rank  scandal,'  she  called  '  seeking  advice ' ;  and 
she  sought  advice,  on  the  case  of  Miss  Tallaght,  from 
the  Judge's  wife  'in  strict  confidence,  my  dear,'  who 
told  the  Commissioner's  wife,  'of  course  vou  won't 


BITTERS  NEAT  123 

repeat  it,  my  dear,'  who  told  the  Deputy  Commis- 
sioner's wife,  'you  understand  it  is  to  go  no  further, 
my  dear,'  who  told  the  newest  bride,  who  was  so  de- 
lighted at  being  in  possession  of  a  secret  concerning 
real  grown-up  men  and  women,  that  she  told  any  one 
and  every  one  who  called  on  her.  So  the  tale  went  all 
over  the  Station,  and  from  being  no  one  in  particular, 
Miss  Tallaght  came  to  take  precedence  of  the  last  in- 
teresting squabble  between  the  Judge's  wife  and  the 
Civil  Engineer's  wife.  Then  began  a  really  interest- 
ing system  of  persecution  worked  by  women  —  soft 
and  sympathetic  and  intangible,  but  calculated  to  drive 
a  girl  off  her  head.  They  were  all  so  sorry  for  Miss 
Tallaght,  and  they  cooed  together  and  were  exagger- 
atedly kind  and  sweet  in  their  manner  to  her,  as  those 
who  said  :  — '  You  may  confide  in  ws,  my  stricken  deer ! ' 

Miss  Tallaght  was  a  woman,  and  sensitive.  It  took 
her  less  than  one  evening  at  the  Band  Stand  to  find 
that  her  poor  little,  precious  little  secret,  that  had  been 
wrenched  from  her  on  the  rack,  was  known  as  widely 
as  if  it  had  been  written  on  her  hat.  I  don't  know 
what  she  went  through.  Women  don't  speak  of  these 
things,  and  men  ought  not  to  guess ;  but  it  must  have 
been  some  specially  reiined  torture,  for  she  told  her 
Aunt  she  would  go  Home  and  die  as  a  Governess 
sooner  than  stay  in  this  hateful  —  hateful  —  place. 
Her  Aunt  said  she  was  a  rebellious  girl,  and  sent  her 
Home  to  her  people  after  a  couple  of  months ;  and  said 
no  one  knew  what  the  pains  of  a  cliapcrones  life  were. 

Poor  Miss  Tallaght  had  one  pleasure  just  at  the  last. 
Halfway  down  the  line,  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  Sur- 
rey, who  had  gone  down  on  duty,  and  was  then  in  the 
up-tram.  And  he  took  off  his  hat  to  her.  She  went 


124  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

Home,  and  if  she  is  not  dead  by  this  time  must  be  liv- 
ing still. 

******* 

Months  afterwards,  there  was  a  lively  dinner  at  the 
Club  for  the  Races.  Surrey  was  mooning  about  as 
usual,  and  there  was  a  good  deal  of  idle  talk  flying 
every  way.  Finally,  one  man,  who  had  taken  more 
than  was  good  for  him,  said,  apropos  of  something 
about  Surrey's  reserved  ways,  — '  Ah,  you  old  fraud. 
It's  all  very  well  for  you  to  pretend.  I  know  a  girl 
who  was  awf'ly  mashed  on  you  —  once.  Dead  nuts 
she  was  on  old  Surrey.  What  had  you  been  doing,  eh  ? ' 

Surrey  expected  some  sort  of  sell,  and  said  with  a 
laugh :  — 

'Who  was  she?' 

Before  any  one  could  kick  the  man,  he  plumped  out 
with  the  name ;  and  the  Honorary  Secretary  tactfully 
upset  the  half  of  a  big  brew  of  shandy-gaff  all  over  the 
table.  After  the  mopping  up,  the  men  went  out  to  the 
Lotteries. 

But  Surrey  sat  on,  and,  after  ten  minutes,  said  very 
humbly  to  the  only  other  man  in  the  deserted  dining- 
room  :  —  '  On  your  honour,  was  there  a  word  of  truth 
in  what  the  drunken  fool  said  ? ' 

Then  the  man  who  is  writing  this  story,  who  had 
known  of  the  thing  from  the  beginning,  and  now  felt 
all  the  hopelessness  and  tangle  of  it,  —  the  waste  and 
the  muddle,  —  said,  a  good  deal  more  energetically  than 
he  meant :  — 

'  Truth  !     O  man,  man,  couldn't  you  see  it  ?  ' 

Surrey  said  nothing,  but  sat  still,  smoking  and  smok- 
ing and  thinking,  while  the  Lottery  tent  babbled  out- 
side, and  the  khitmutgars  turned  down  the  lamps. 


BITTEES  NEAT  125 

To  the  best  of  my  knowledge  and  belief  that  was 
the  first  thing  Surrey  ever  knew  about  love.  But  his 
awakening  did  not  seem  to  delight  him.  It  must  have 
been  rather  unpleasant,  to  judge  by  the  look  on  his 
face.  He  looked  like  a  man  who  had  missed  a  train 
and  had  been  half  stunned  at  the  same  time. 

When  the  men  came  in  from  the  Lotteries,  Surrey 
went  out.  He  wasn't  in  the  mood  for  bones  and 
'horse'  talk.  He  went  to  his  tent,  and  the  last  thing 
he  said,  quite  aloud  to  himself,  was :  —  'I  didn't  see. 
I  didn't  see.  If  I  had  only  known  ! ' 

Even  if  he  had  known  I  don't  believe  .  .   . 

But  these  things  are  kismet,  and  we  only  find  out  all 
about  them  just  when  any  knowledge  is  too  late. 


A   GERM-DESTROYER 

Pleasant  it  is  for  the  Little  Tin  Gods 

When  great  Jove  nods  ; 

But  Little  Tin  Gods  make  their  little  mistakes 
In  missing  the  hour  when  great  Jove  wakes. 

As  a  general  rule,  it  is  inexpedient  to  meddle  with 
questions  of  State  in  a  land  where  men  are  highly 
paid  to  work  them  out  for  you.  This  tale  is  a  justifi- 
able exception. 

Once  in  every  five  years,  as  you  know,  we  indent 
for  a  new  Viceroy ;  and  each  Viceroy  imports,  with  the 
rest  of  his  baggage,  a  Private  Secretary,  who  may  or 
may  not  be  the  real  Viceroy,  just  as  Fate  ordains. 
Fate  looks  after  the  Indian  Empire  because  it  is  so  big 
and  so  helpless. 

There  was  a  Viceroy  once,  who  brought  out  with 
him  a  turbulent  Private  Secretary  —  a  hard  man  with 
a  soft  mariner  and  a  morbid  passion  for  work.  This 
Secretary  was  called  Wonder  —  John  Fennil  Wonder. 
The  Viceroy  possessed  no  name  —  nothing  but  a  string 
of  counties  and  two-thirds  of  the  alphabet  after  them. 
He  said,  in  confidence,  that  he  was  the  electro-plated 
figure-head  of  a  golden  administration,  and  he  watched 
in  a  dreamy,  amused  way  Wonder's  attempts  to  draw 
matters  which  were  entirely  outside  his  province  into 

126 


A  GERM-DESTROYER  127 

his  own  hands.  '  When  we  are  all  cherubims  together,' 
said  His  Excellency  once,  '  my  dear,  good  friend  Won- 
der will  head  the  conspiracy  for  plucking  out  Gabriel's 
tail-feathers  or  stealing  Peter's  keys.  Then  I  shall 
report  him.' 

But,  though  the  Viceroy  did  nothing  to  check 
Wonder's  officiousness,  other  people  said  unpleasant 
things.  Maybe  the  Members  of  Council  began  it ; 
but,  finally,  all  Simla  agreed  that  there  was  '  too  much 
Wonder,  and  too  little  Viceroy'  in  that  rule.  Won- 
der was  always  quoting  'His  Excellency.'  It  was 
'  His  Excellency  this,'  4  His  Excellency  that,'  '  In  the 
opinion  of  His  Excellency,'  and  so  on.  The  Viceroy 
smiled  ;  but  he  did  not  heed.  He  said  that,  so  long 
as  his  old  men  squabbled  with  his  '  dear,  good  Wonder,' 
they  might  be  induced  to  leave  the  Immemorial  East 
in  peace. 

'No  wise  man  has  a  Policy,'  said  the  Viceroy.  'A 
Policy  is  the  blackmail  levied  on  the  Fool  by  the 
Unforeseen.  I  am  not  the  former,  and  1  do  not  be- 
lieve in  the  latter.' 

I  do  not  quite  see  what  this  means,  unless  it  refers 
to  an  Insurance  Policy.  Perhaps  it  was  the  Viceroy's 
way  of  saying,  '  Lie  low.' 

That  season,  came  up  to  Simla  one  of  these  crazy 
people  with  only  a  single  idea.  These  are  the  men 
who  make  things  move  ;  but  they  are  not  nice  to  talk 
to.  This  man's  name  was  Mellish,  and  lie  had  lived 
for  iifteen  years  on  land  of  his  own,  in  Lower  Bengal, 
studying  cholera.  Ho  held  that  cholera  was  a  germ 
that  propagated  itself  as  it  Hew  through  a  muggy  atmo- 
sphere ;  and  stuck  in  the  branches  of  trees  like  a  wool- 
flake.  The  germ  could  be  rendered  sterile,  he  said, 


128  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

by  '  Mellish's  Own  Invincible  Fumigatory  '  —  a  heavy 
violet-black  powder  — '  the  result  of  fifteen  years' 
scientific  investigation,  Sir  ! ' 

Inventors  seem  very  much  alike  as  a  caste.  They 
talk  loudly,  especially  about  '  conspiracies  of  monopo- 
lists ' ;  they  beat  upon  the  table  with  their  fists ;  and 
they  secrete  fragments  of  their  inventions  about  their 
persons. 

Mellish  said  that  there  was  a  Medical  'Ring'  at 
Simla,  headed  by  the  Surgeon-General,  who  was  in 
league,  apparently,  with  all  the  Hospital  Assistants  in 
the  Empire.  I  forget  exactly  how  he  proved  it,  but 
it  had  something  to  do  with  '  skulking  up  to  the 
Hills ' ;  and  what  Mellish  wanted  was  the  independent 
evidence  of  the  Viceroy  — '  Steward  of  Her  Majesty 
the  Queen,  Sir.'  So  Mellish  went  up  to  Simla,  with 
eighty-four  pounds  of  J^umigatory  in  his  trunk,  to 
speak  to  the  Viceroy  and  to  show  him  the  merits  of 
the  invention. 

But  it  is  easier  to  see  a  Viceroy  than  to  talk  to 
him,  unless  you  chance  to  be  as  important  as  Mellishe 
of  Madras.  He  was  a  six-thousand-rupee  man,  so 
great  that  his  daughters  never  'married.'  They  'con- 
tracted alliances.'  He  himself  was  not  paid.  He 
'received  emoluments,'  and  his  journeys  about  the 
country  were  'tours  of  observation.'  His  business 
was  to  stir  up  the  people  in  Madras  with  a  long  pole 
—  as  you  stir  up  tench  in  a  pond  —  and  the  people 
had  to  come  up  out  of  their  comfortable  old  ways 
and  gasp  — '  This  is  Enlightenment  and  Progress. 
Isn't  it  fine  ! '  Then  they  gave  Mellishe  statues  and 
jasmine  garlands,  in  the  hope  of  getting  rid  of  him. 

Mellishe    came    up    to   Simla    'to    confer   with    the 


A  GERM-DESTROYER  129 

Viceroy.'  That  was  one  of  his  perquisites.  The  Vice- 
roy knew  nothing  of  Mellishe  except  that  he  was  *  one 
of  those  middle-class  deities  who  seem  necessary  to  the 
spiritual  comfort  of  this  Paradise  of  the  Middle-classes,' 
and  that,  in  all  probability,  he  had  *  suggested,  designed, 
founded,  and  endowed  all  the  public  institutions  in 
Madras.'  Which  proves  that  His  Excellency,  though 
dreamy,  had  experience  of  the  ways  of  six-thousand- 
rupee  men. 

Mellishe's  name  was  E.  Mellishe,  and  Mellish's  was 
E.  S.  Mellish,  and  the}r  were  both  staying  at  the  same 
hotel,  and  the  Fate  that  looks  after  the  Indian  Empire 
ordained  that  Wonder  should  blunder  and  drop  the 
final  '  e ' ;  that  the  Chaprassi  should  help  him,  and 
that  the  note  which  ran  — 

DEAR  MR.  MELLISH,  —  Can  you  set  aside  your  other  engage- 
ments, and  lunch  with  us  at  two  to-morrow  ?  His  Excellency  has 
an  hour  at  your  disposal  then, 

should  be  given  to  Mellish  with  the  Fumigatory.  He 
nearly  wept  with  pride  and  delight,  and  at  the  ap- 
pointed hour  cantered  to  Peterhoff,  a  big  paper-bag  full 
of  the  Fumigatory  in  his  coat-tail  pockets.  He  had 
his  chance,  and  he  meant  to  make  the  most  of  it. 
Mellishe  of  Madras  had  been  so  portentously  solemn 
about  his  '  conference,'  that  Wonder  had  arranged  for 
a  private  tifnn,  —  no  A.-D.-C.'s,  no  Wonder,  no  one  but 
the  Viceroy,  who  said  plaintively  that  he  feared  being 
left  alone  with  unmuzzled  autocrats  like  the  great 
Mellishe  of  Madras. 

But  his  guest  did  not  bore  the  Viceroy.  On  the 
contrary,  he  amused  him.  Mellish  was  nervously 
anxious  to  go  straight  to  his  Fumigatory,  and  talked  at 
random  until  tiffin  was  over  and  His  Excellency  asked 


130  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

him  to  smoke.  The  Viceroy  was  pleased  with  Hellish 
because  he  did  not  talk  '  shop. ' 

As  soon  as  the  cheroots  were  lit,  Mellish  spoke 
like  a  man  ;  beginning  with  his  cholera-theory,  review- 
ing his  fifteen  years'  'scientific  labours,'  the  machina- 
tions of  the  '  Simla  Ring,'  and  the  excellence  of  his 
Fumigatory,  while  the  Viceroy  watched  him  between 
half-shut  eyes  and  thought  — '  Evidently  this  is  the 
wrong  tiger ;  but  it  is  an  original  animal.'  Mellish's 
hair  was  standing  on  end  with  excitement,  and  he 
stammered.  He  began  groping  in  his  coat-tails  and, 
before  the  Viceroy  knew  what  was  about  to  happen, 
he  had  tipped  a  bagful  of  his  powder  into  the  big  silver 
ash-tray. 

'  J-j-judge  for  yourself,  Sir,'  said  Mellish.  '  Y'  Ex- 
cellency shall  judge  for  yourself  !  Absolutely  infalli- 
ble, on  my  honour.' 

He  plunged  the  lighted  end  of  his  cigar  into  the 
powder,  which  began  to  smoke  like  a  volcano,  and  send 
up  fat,  greasy  wreaths  of  copper-coloured  smoke.  In 
five  seconds  the  room  was  filled  with  a  most  pungent 
and  sickening  stench  —  a  reek  that  took  fierce  hold  of 
the  trap  of  your  windpipe  and  shut  it.  The  powder 
hissed  and  fizzed,  and  sent  out  blue  and  green  sparks, 
and  the  smoke  rose  till  you  could  neither  see,  nor 
breathe,  nor  gasp.  Mellish,  however,  was  used  to  it. 

'Nitrate  of  strontia,'  he  shouted;  'baryta,  bone-meal. 
Thousand  cubic  feet  smoke  per  cubic  inch.  Not  a 
germ  could  live  —  not  a  germ,  Y'  Excellency  ! ' 

But  His  Excellency  had  flecl,  and  was  coughing  at 
the  foot  of  the  stairs,  while  all  Peterhoff  hummed  like 
a  hive.  lied  Lancers  came  in,  and  the  head  Chaprassi 
Who  speaks  English,  came  in,,  and  mace-bearers  came  in, 


A  GERM-DESTROYER  131 

and  ladies  ran  downstairs  screaming  '  Fire ' ;  for  the 
smoke  was  drifting  through  the  house  and  oozing  out 
of  the  windows,  and  bellying  along  the  verandahs,  and 
wreathing  and  writhing  across  the  gardens.  No  one 
could  enter  the  room  where  Mellish  was  lecturing  on 
his  Fumigatory,  till  that  unspeakable  powder  had 
burned  itself  out. 

Then  an  Aide-de-Camp,  who  desired  the  V.  C., 
rushed  through  the  rolling  clouds  and  hauled  Mellish 
into  the  hall.  The  Viceroy  was  prostrate  with  laugh- 
ter, and  could  only  waggle  his  hands  feebly  at  Mellish, 
who  was  shaking  a  fresh  bagful  of  powder  at  him. 

'  Glorious  !  Glorious  ! '  sobbed  His  Excellency. 
4  Not  a  germ,  as  you  justly  observe,  could  exist !  I 
can  swear  it.  A  magnificent  success !  ' 

Then  he  laughed  till  the  tears  came,  and  Wonder, 
who  had  caught  the  real  Mellishe  snorting  on  the  Mall, 
entered  and  was  deeply  shocked  at  the  scene.  But  the 
Viceroy  was  delighted,  because  he  saw  that  Wonder 
would  presently  depart.  Mellish  with  the  Fumigatory 
was  also  pleased,  for  he  felt  that  he  had  smashed  the 
Simla  Medical  '  Ring.' 

******* 

Few  men  could  tell  a  story  like  His  Excellency  when 
he  took  the  trouble,  and  his  account  of  '  my  dear,  good 
Wonder's  friend  with  the  powder  '  went  the  round  of 
Simla,  and  flippant  folk  made  Wonder  unhappy  by 
their  remarks. 

But  His  Excellency  told  the  tale  once  too  often 
—  for  Wonder.  As  he  meant  to  do.  It  was  at  a 
Seepee  Picnic.  Wonder  was  sitting  just  behind  the 
Viceroy. 

4  And  I  really  thought   for   a   moment,'  wound  up 


132  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

His  Excellency,  *  that  my  dear,  good  Wonder  had  hired 
an  assassin  to  clear  his  way  to  the  throne  !  * 

Every  one  laughed  ;  but  there  was  a  delicate  sub- 
tinkle  in  the  Viceroy's  tone  which  Wonder  understood. 
He  found  that  his  health  was  giving  way ;  and  the 
Viceroy  allowed  him  to  go,  and  presented  him  with  a 
flaming  '  character  '  for  use  at  Home  among  big  people. 

'My  fault  entirely,'  said  His  Excellency,  in  after 
seasons,  with  a  twi'-akle  in  his  eye.  '  My  inconsistency 
must  always  have  been  distasteful  to  such  a  masterly 
man.' 


KIDNAPPED 

There  is  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men, 

Which,  taken  any  way  you  please,  is  bad, 

And  strands  them  in  forsaken  guts  and  creeks 

No  decent  soul  would  think  of  visiting. 

You  cannot  stop  the  tide  ;  but,  now  and  then, 

You  may  arrest  some  rash  adventurer 

Who  —  h'm  —  will  hardly  thank  you  for  your  pains. 

—  Vibarfs  Moralities. 

WE  are  a  high-caste  and  enlightened  race,  and  infant- 
marriage  is  very  shocking  and  the  consequences  are 
sometimes  peculiar  ;  but,  nevertheless,  the  Hindu  notion 
—  which  is  the  Continental  notion,  which  is  the 
aboriginal  notion  —  of  arranging  marriages  irrespective 
of  the  personal  inclinations  of  the  married,  is  sound. 
Think  for  a  minute,  and  you  will  see  that  it  must  be 
so;  unless,  of  course,  you  believe  in  'affinities.'  In 
which  case  you  had  better  not  read  this  tale.  How 
can  a  man  who  has  never  married ;  who  cannot  be 
trusted  to  pick  up  at  sight  a  moderately  sound  horse ; 
whose  head  is  hot  and  upset  with  visions  of  domestic 
felicity,  go  about  the  choosing  of  a  wife?  He  cannot 
see  straight  or  think  straight  if  he  tries  ;  and  the  same 
disadvantages  exist  in  the  case  of  a  girl's  fancies.  But 
when  mature,  married,  and  discreet  people  arrange  a 
match  between  a  boy  and  a  girl,  they  do  it  sensibly, 

133 


134  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

with  a  view  to  the  future,  and  the  young  couple  live 
happily  ever  afterwards.  As  everybody  knows. 

Properly  speaking,  Government  should  establish  a 
Matrimonial  Department,  efficiently  officered,  with  a 
Jury  of  Matrons,  a  Judge  of  the  Chief  Court,  a  Senior 
Chaplain,  and  an  Awful  Warning,  in  the  shape  of  a 
love-match  that  has  gone  wrong,  chained  to  the  trees 
in  the  courtyard.  All  marriages  should  be  made  through 
the  Department,  which  might  be  subordinate  to  the 
Educational  Department,  under  the  same  penalty  as 
that  attaching  to  the  transfer  of  land  without  a  stamped 
document.  But  Government  won't  take  suggestions. 
It  pretends  that  it  is  too  busy.  However,  I  will  put 
my  notion  on  record,  and  explain  the  example  that 
illustrates  the  theory. 

Once  upon  a  time,  there  was  a  good  young  man  — 
a  first-class  officer  in  his  own  Department  —  a  man 
with  a  career  before  him  and,  possibly,  a  K.C.I.E. 
at  the  end  of  it.  All  his  superiors  spoke  well  of  him, 
because  he  knew  how  to  hold  his  tongue  and  his  pen 
at  the  proper  times.  There  are,  to-day,  only  eleven 
men  in  India  who  possess  this  secret ;  and  they  have 
all,  with  one  exception,  attained  great  honour  and 
enormous  incomes. 

This  good  young  man  was  quiet  and  self-contained  — 
too  old  for  his  years  by  far.  Which  always  carries  its 
own  punishment.  Had  a  Subaltern  or  a  Tea-Planter's 
Assistant,  or  anybody  who  enjoys  life  and  has  no  care 
for  to-morrow,  done  what  he  tried  to  do,  not  a  soul 
would  have  cared.  But  when  Peythroppe —  the  esti- 
mable, virtuous,  economical,  quiet,  hard-working,  young 
Peythroppe  —  fell,  there  was  a  flutter  through  five 
Departments. 


KIDNAPPED  135 

The  manner  of  his  fall  was  in  this  way.  He  met 
a  Miss  Castries — d'Castries  it  was  originally,  but  the 
family  dropped  the  d'  for  administrative  reasons  —  and 
he  fell  in  love  with  her  even  more  energetically  than 
he  worked.  Understand  clearly  that  there  was  not 
a  breath  of  a  word  to  be  said  against  Miss  Castries  — • 
not  a  shadow  of  a  breath.  She  was  good  and  very 
lovely  —  possessed  what  innocent  people  at  Home  call 
a  '  Spanish '  complexion,  with  thick  blue-black  hair 
growing  low  down  on  the  forehead,  into  a  '  widow's 
peak,'  and  big  violet  eyes  under  eyebrows  as  black  and 
as  straight  as  the  borders  of  a  Crazette  Extraordinary, 

when  a  big  man  dies.  But but but Well, 

she  was  a  very  sweet  girl  and  very  pious,  but  for  many 
reasons  she  was  '  impossible.'  Quite  so.  All  good 
Mammas  know  what  '  impossible '  means.  It  was 
obviously  absurd  that  Peythroppe  should  marry  her. 
The  little  opal-tinted  onyx  at  the  base  of  her  finger- 
nails said  this  as  plainly  as  print.  Further,  marriage 
with  Miss  Castries  meant  marriage  with  several  other 
Castries  —  Honorary  Lieutenant  Castries  her  Papa, 
Mrs.  Eulalie  Castries  her  Mamma,  and  all  the  ramifica- 
tions of  the  Castries  family,  011  incomes  ranging  from 
Rs.175  to  Us. 470  a  month,  and  their  wives  and  con- 
nections again. 

It  would  have  been  cheaper  for  Peythroppe  to  have 
assaulted  a  Commissioner  with  a  dog-whip,  or  to  have 
burned  the  records  of  a  Deputy-Commissioner's  Office, 
than  to  have  contracted  an  alliance  with  the  Castries. 
It  would  have  weighted  his  after-career  less  —  even 
under  a  Government  which  never  forgets  and  never 
forgives.  Everybody  saw  this  but  Peythroppe.  He 
was  going  to  marry  Miss  Castries,  he  was — being  of 


136  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

age  and  drawing  a  good  income  —  and  woe  betide  the 
house  that  would  not  afterwards  receive  Mrs.  Virginie 
Saulez  Peythroppe  with  the  deference  due  to  her  hus- 
band's rank.  That  was  Peythroppe's  ultimatum,  and 
any  remonstrance  drove  him  frantic. 

These  sudden  madnesses  most  afflict  the  sanest  men. 
There  was  a  case  once  —  but  I  will  tell  you  of  that 
later  on.  You  cannot  account  for  the  mania  except 
under  a  theory  directly  contradicting  the  one  about 
the  Place  where  marriages  are  made.  Peythroppe 
was  burningly  anxious  to  put  a  millstone  round  his 
neck  at  the  outset  of  his  career;  and  argument  had 
not  the  least  effect  on  him.  He  was  going  to  marry 
Miss  Castries,  and  the  business  was  his  own  business. 
He  would  thank  you  to  keep  your  advice  to  yourself. 
With  a  man  in  this  condition,  mere  words  only  fix 
him  in  his  purpose.  Of  course  he  cannot  see  that 
marriage  in  India  does  not  concern  the  individual  but 
the  Government  he  serves. 

Do  you  remember  Mrs.  Hauksbee  —  the  most  won- 
derful woman  in  India?  She  saved  Pluffles  from 
Mrs.  Reiver,  won  Tarrion  his  appointment  in  the 
Foreign  Office,  and  was  defeated  in  open  field  by  Mrs. 
Cusack-Bremmil.  She  heard  of  the  lamentable  con- 
dition of  Peythroppe,  and  her  brain  struck  out  the 
plan  that  saved  him.  She  had  the  wisdom  of  the 
Serpent,  the  logical  coherence  of  the  Man,  the  fear- 
lessness of  the  Child,  and  the  triple  intuition  of  the 
Woman.  Never  —  no,  never  —  as  long  as  a  tonga 
buckets  down  the  Solon  dip,  or  the  couples  go  a-rid- 
ing  at  the  back  of  Summer  Hill,  will  there  be  such 
a  genius  as  Mrs.  Hauksbee.  She  attended  the  con- 
sultation of  Three  Men  on  Peythroppe's  case ;  and 


KIDNAPPED  137 

she  stood  up  with  the  lash  of  her  riding-whip  between 
her  lips  and  spake. 

******* 

Three  weeks  later,  Peythroppe  dined  with  the  Three 
Men,  and  the  Gazette  of  India  came  in.  Peythroppe 
found  to  his  surprise  that  he  had  been  gazetted  a 
month's  leave.  Don't  ask  me  how  this  was  managed. 
I  believe  firmly  that,  if  Mrs.  Hauksbee  gave  the  order, 
the  whole  Great  Indian  Administration  would  stand 
on  its  head.  The  Three  Men  had  also  a  month's  leave 
each.  Peythroppe  put  the  G-azette  down  and  said  bad 
words.  Then  there  came  from  the  compound  the  soft 
'pad-pad'  of  camels  —  'thieves'  camels,'  the  Bikaneer 
breed  that  don't  bubble  and  howl  when  they  sit  down 
and  get  up. 

After  that,  I  don't  know  what  happened.  This 
much  is  certain.  Peythroppe  disappeared — vanished 
like  smoke  —  and  the  long  foot-rest  chair  in  the  house 
of  the  Three  Men  was  broken  to  splinters.  Also  a  bed- 
stead departed  from  one  of  the  bedrooms. 

Mrs.  Hauksbee  said  that  Mr.  Peythroppe  was  shoot- 
ing in  Rajputana  with  the  Three  Men;  so  we  were 
compelled  to  believe  her. 

At  the  end  of  the  month,  Peythroppe  was  gazetted 
twenty  days'  extension  of  leave  ;  but  there  was  wrath 
and  lamentation  in  the  house  of  Castries.  The  mar- 
riage-day had  been  fixed,  but  the  bridegroom  never 
came  :  and  the  D'Silvas,  Pereiras,  and  Ducketts  lifted 
their  voices  and  mocked  Honorary  Lieutenant  Castries 
as  one  who  had  been  basely  imposed  upon.  Mrs. 
Hauksbee  went  to  the  wedding,  and  was  much  aston- 
ished when  Peythroppe  did  not  appear.  After  seven 
weeks,  Peythroppe  and  the  Three  Men  returned  from 


138  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

Rajputana.  Peythroppe  was  in  hard  tough  condition, 
rather  white,  and  more  self  contained  than  ever. 

One  of  the  Three  Men  had  a  cut  on  his  nose,  caused 
by  the  kick  of  a  gun.  Twelve-bores  kick  rather 
curiously. 

Then  came  Honorary  Lieutenant  Castries,  seeking 
for  the  blood  of  his  perfidious  son-in-law  to  be.  He 
said  things  —  vulgar  and  '  impossible '  things  which 
showed  the  raw  rough  '  ranker '  below  the  '  Honorary,' 
and  I  fancy  Peythroppe's  eyes  were  opened.  Anyhow, 
he  held  his  peace  till  the  end ;  when  he  spoke  briefly. 
Honorary  Lieutenant  Castries  asked  for  a  '  peg '  before 
he  went  away  to  die  or  bring  a  suit  for  breach  of 
promise. 

Miss  Castries  was  a  very  good  girl.  She  said  that 
she  would  have  no  breach  of  promise  suits.  She  said 
that,  if  she  was  not  a  lady,  she  was  refined  enough  to 
know  that  ladies  kept  their  broken  hearts  to  them- 
selves ;  and,  as  she  ruled  her  parents,  nothing  hap- 
pened. Later  on,  she  married  a  most  respectable  and 
gentlemanly  person.  He  travelled  for  an  enterprising 
firm  in  Calcutta,  and  was  all  that  a  good  husband 
should  be. 

So  Peythroppe  came  to  his  right  mind  again,  and 
did  much  good  work,  and  was  honoured  by  all  who 
knew  him.  One  of  these  days  he  will  marry ;  but  he 
will  marry  a  sweet  pink-and-white  maiden,  on  the 
Government  House  List,  with  a  little  money  and  some 
influential  connections,  as  every  wise  man  should. 
And  he  will  never,  all  his  life,  tell  her  what  hap- 
pened during  the  seven  weeks  of  his  shooting-tour 
in  Ilajputana. 

But   just  think   how  much   trouble  and   expense  — 


KIDNAPPED  139 

for  camel-hire  is  not  cheap,  and  those  Bikaneer  brutes 
had  to  be  fed  like  humans — might  have  been  saved  by 
a  properly  conducted  Matrimonial  Department,  under 
the  control  of  the  Director-General  of  Education,  but 
corresponding  direct  with  the  Viceroy. 


THE  ARREST  OF  LIEUTENANT  GOLIGHTLY 

•I've  forgotten  the  countersign,'  sez  'e. 

1  Oh!    You  'ave,  'ave  you  ?  '  sez  I. 

'  But  I'm  the  Colonel,'  sez  'e. 

'  Oh!  You  are,  are  you  ?  '  sez  I.  '  Colonel  nor  no  Colonel,  you 
waits  'ere  till  I'm  relieved,  an'  the  Sarjint  reports  on  your  ugly  old 
mug.  Choop  I '  sez  I. 

###*#*##* 

An'  s'elp  me  soul,  'twas  the  Colonel  after  all !  But  I  was  a  recruity 
then. 

—  The  Unedited  Autobiography  of  Private  Ortheris. 

IF  there  was  one  thing  on  which  Golightly  prided 
himself  more  than  another,  it  was  looking  like  '  an 
Officer  and  a  Gentleman.'  He  said  it  was  for  the 
honour  of  the  Service  that  he  attired  himself  so 
elaborately  ;  but  those  who  knew  him  best  said  that 
it  was  just  personal  vanity.  There  was  no  harm 
about  Golightly  —  not  an  ounce.  He  recognised  a 
horse  when  he  saw  one,  and  could  do  more  than  fill 
a  cantle.  He  played  a  very  fair  game  at  billiards, 
and  was  a  sound  man  at  the  whist-table.  Every  one 
liked  him  ;  and  nobody  ever  dreamed  of  seeing  him 
handcuffed  on  a  station  platform  as  a  deserter.  But 
this  sad  thing  happened. 

He  was  going  down  from  Dalhousie,  at  the  end  of 
his  leave  —  riding  down.  He  had  run  his  leave  as 
fine  as  he  dared,  and  wanted  to  come  down  in  a  hurry. 

140 


THE  ARREST  OF  LIEUTENANT  GOLIGHTLY  141 

It  was  fairly  warm  at  Dalhousie,  and,  knowing 
what  to  expect  below,  he  descended  in  a  new  khaki 
suit  —  tight  fitting  —  of  a  delicate  olive-green ;  a  pea- 
cock-blue tie,  white  collar,  and  a  snowy  white  solah 
helmet.  He  prided  himself  on  looking  neat  even 
when  he  was  riding  post.  He  did  look  neat,  and  he 
was  so  deeply  concerned  about  his  appearance  before 
he  started  that  he  quite  forgot  to  take  anything  but 
some  small  change  with  him.  He  left  all  his  notes 
at  the  hotel.  His  servants  had  gone  down  the  road 
before  him,  to  be  ready  in  waiting  at  Pathankote  with 
a  change  of  gear.  That  was  what  he  called  travelling 
in  '  light  marching-order.'  He  was  proud  of  his  faculty 
of  organisation  —  what  we  call  bundobust. 

Twenty-two  miles  out  of  Dalhousie  it  began  to  rain 
—  not  a  mere  hill-shower,  but  a  good,  tepid,  mon- 
soonish  downpour.  Golightly  bustled  on,  wishing 
that  he  had  brought  an  umbrella.  The  dust  on  the 
roads  turned  into  mud,  and  the  pony  mired  a  good 
deal.  So  did  Golightly's  khaki  gaiters.  But  he  kept 
on  steadily  and  tried  to  think  how  pleasant  the  coolth 
was. 

His  next  pony  was  rather  a  brute  at  starting,  and, 
Golightly's  hands  being  slippery  with  the  rain,  con- 
trived to  get  rid  of  Golightly  at  a  corner.  He  chased 
the  animal,  caught  it,  and  went  ahead  briskly.  The 
spill  had  not  improved  his  clothes  or  his  temper,  and  he 
had  lost  one  spur.  He  kept  the  other  one  employed. 
By  the  time  that  stage  was  ended,  the  pony  had  had 
as  much  exercise  as  he  wanted,  and,  in  spite  of  the 
rain,  Golightly  was  sweating  freely.  At  the  end  of 
another  miserable  half-hour  Golightly  found  the  world 
disappear  before  his  eyes  in  clammy  pulp.  The  rain 


142  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

had  turned  the  pith  of  his  huge  and  snowy  solah-topee 
into  an  evil-smelling  dough,  and  it  had  closed  on  his 
head  like  a  half-opened  mushroom.  Also  the  green 
lining  was  beginning  to  run. 

Golightly  did  not  say  anything  worth  recording 
here.  He  tore  off  and  squeezed  up  as  much  of  the 
brim  as  was  in  his  eyes  and  ploughed  on.  The  back 
of  the  helmet  was  flapping  on  his  neck  and  the  sides 
stuck  to  his  ears,  but  the  leather  band  and  green 
lining  kept  things  roughly  together,  so  that  the  hat 
did  not  actually  melt  away  where  it  flapped. 

Presently,  the  pulp  and  the  green  stuff  made  a  sort 
of  slimy  mildew  which  ran  over  Golightly  in  several 
directions  —  down  his  back  and  bosom  for  choice.  The 
khaki  colour  ran  too  —  it  was  really  shockingly  bad  dye 
—  and  sections  of  Golightly  were  brown,  and  patches 
were  violet,  and  contours  were  ochre,  and  streaks  were 
ruddy-red,  and  blotches  were  nearly  white,  according 
to  the  nature  and  peculiarities  of  the  dye.  When  he 
took  out  his  handkerchief  to  wipe  his  face,  and  the 
green  of  the  hat-lining  and  the  purple  stuff  that  had 
soaked  through  on  to  his  neck  from  the  tie  became 
thoroughly  mixed,  the  effect  was  amazing. 

Near  Dhar  the  rain  stopped  and  the  evening  sun 
came  out  and  dried  him  up  slightly.  It  fixed  the 
colours,  too.  Three  miles  from  Pathankote  the  last 
pony  fell  dead  lame,  and  Golightly  was  forced  to  walk. 
He  pushed  on  into  Pathankote  to  find  his  servants. 
He  did  not  know  then  that  his  khitmatgar  had  stopped 
by  the  roadside  to  get  drunk,  and  would  come  on  the 
next  day  saying  that  he  had  sprained  his  ankle.  When 
he  got  into  Pathankote  he  couldn't  find  his  servants, 
his  boots  were  stiff  and  ropy  with  mud,  and  there 


THE  ARREST  OF  LIEUTENANT  GOLIGHTLY  143 

were  large  quantities  of  dust  about  his  body.  The 
blue  tie  had  run  as  much  as  the  khaki.  So  he  took  it 
off  with  the  collar  and  threw  it  away.  Then  he  said 
something  about  servants  generally  and  tried  to  get  a 
peg.  He  paid  eight  annas  for  the  drink,  and  this 
revealed  to  him  that  he  had  only  six  annas  more  in  his 
pocket  —  or  in  the  world  as  he  stood  at  that  hour. 

He  went  to  the  Station-Master  to  negotiate  for 
a  first-class  ticket  to  Khasa,  where  he  was  stationed. 
The  booking-clerk  said  something  to  the  Station- 
Master,  the  Station-Master  said  something  to  the 
telegraph  clerk,  and  the  three  looked  at  him  with 
curiosity.  They  asked  him  to  wait  for  half  an  hour, 
while  they  telegraphed  to  Umritsar  for  authority.  So 
he  waited  and  four  constables  came  and  grouped 
themselves  picturesquely  round  him.  Just  as  he 
was  preparing  to  ask  them  to  go  away,  the  Station- 
Master  said  that  he  would  give  the  Sahib  a  ticket  to 
Umritsar,  if  the  Sahib  would  kindly  come  inside  the 
booking-office.  Golightly  stepped  inside,  and  the  next 
thing  he  knew  was  that  a  constable  was  attached  to 
each  of  his  legs  and  arms,  while  the  Station-Master 
was  trying  to  cram  a  mail-bag  over  his  head. 

There  was  a  very  fair  scuffle  all  round  the  booking- 
office,  and  Golightly  took  a  nasty  cut  over  his  eye 
through  falling  against  a  table.  But  the  constables 
were  too  much  for  him,  and  they  and  the  Station- 
Master  handcuffed  him  securely.  As  soon  as  the  mail- 
bag  was  slipped,  he  began  expressing  his  opinions,  and 
the  head  constable  said,  '  Without  doubt  this  is  the 
soldier-Englishman  we  required.  Listen  to  the  abuse  ! ' 
Then  Golightly  asked  the  Station-Master  what  the  this 
and  the  that  the  proceedings  meant.  The  Station- 


144          PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

Master  told  him  he  was  'Private  John  Binkle  of  the 

Regiment,  5  ft.  9  in.,  fair  hair,  gray  eyes,  and  a 

dissipated  appearance,  no  marks  on  the  body,'  who  had 
deserted  a  fortnight  ago.  Golightly  began  explaining 
at  great  length ;  and  the  more  he  explained  the  less 
the  Station-Master  believed  him.  He  said  that  no 
Lieutenant  could  look  such  a  ruffian  as  did  Golightly, 
and  that  his  instructions  were  to  send  his  capture  under 
proper  escort  to  Umritsar.  Golightly  was  feeling  very 
damp  and  uncomfortable  and  the  language  he  used  was 
not  fit  for  publication,  even  in  an  expurgated  form. 
The  four  constables  saw  him  safe  to  Umritsar  in  an 
'  intermediate '  compartment,  and  he  spent  the  four- 
hour  journey  in  abusing  them  as  fluently  as  his  know- 
ledge of  the  vernaculars  allowed. 

At  Umritsar  he  was  bundled  out  on  the  platform 

into  the  arms  of  a  Corporal  and  two  men  of  the 

Regiment.  Golightly  drew  himself  up  and  tried  to 
carry  off  matters  jauntily.  He  did  not  feel  too  jaunty 
in  handcuffs,  with  four  constables  behind  him,  and  the 
blood  from  the  cut  on  his  forehead  stiffening  on  his  left 
cheek.  The  Corporal  was  not  jocular  either.  Golightly 
got  as  far  as  — '  This  is  a  very  absurd  mistake,  my  men,' 
when  the  Corporal  told  him  to  '  stow  his  lip '  and  come 
along.  Golightly  did  not  want  to  come  along.  He 
desired  to  stop  and  explain.  He  explained  very  well 
indeed,  until  the  Corporal  cut  in  with  —  *  You  a 
orficer !  It's  the  like  o'  you  as  brings  disgrace  on  the 
likes  of  us.  Bloomin'  fine  orficer  you  are !  I  know 
your  regiment.  The  Rogue's  March  is  the  quickstep 
where  you  come  from.  You're  a  black  shame  to  the 
Service.' 

Golightly  kept  his  temper,  and  began  explaining  all 


THE  ARREST  OF  LIEUTENANT  GOLIGHTLY  145 

over  again  from  the  beginning.  Then  he  was  marched 
out  of  the  rain  into  the  refreshment-room  and  told  not 
to  make  a  qualified  fool  of  himself.  The  men  were 
going  to  run  him  up  to  Fort  Govindghar.  And  '  run- 
ning up '  is  a  performance  almost  as  undignified  as  the 
Frog  March. 

Golightly  was  nearly  hysterical  with  rage  and  the 
chill  and  the  mistake  and  the  handcuffs  and  the  head- 
ache that  the  cut  on  his  forehead  had  given  him.  He 
really  laid  himself  out  to  express  what  was  in  his  mind. 
When  he  had  quite  finished  and  his  throat  was  feeling 
dry,  one  of  the  men  said,  '  I've  'eard  a  few  beggars  in 
the  clink  blind,  stiff  and  crack  on  a  bit ;  but  I've  never 
'eard  any  one  to  touch  this  ere  "orficer."  They  were 
not  angry  with  him.  They  rather  admired  him.  They 
had  some  beer  at  the  refreshment-room,  and  offered 
Golightly  some  too,  because  he  had  '  swore  won'erful.' 
They  asked  him  to  tell  them  all  about  the  adventures 
of  Private  John  Binkle  while  he  was  loose  on  the 
country-side ;  and  that  made  Golightly  wilder  than 
ever.  If  he  had  kept  his  wits  about  him  he  would 
have  been  quiet  until  an  officer  came ;  but  he  attempted 
to  run. 

Now  the  butt  of  a  Martini  in  the  small  of  your 
back  hurts  a  great  deal,  and  rotten,  rain-soaked  khaki 
tears  easily  when  two  men  are  yerking  at  your  collar. 

Golightly  rose  from  the  floor  feeling  very  sick  and 
gidiy,  with  his  shirt  ripped  open  all  down  his  breast 
and  nearly  all  down  his  back.  He  yielded  to  his  luck, 
an: I  at  that  point  the  down-train  from  Lahore  came  in, 
carrying  one  of  Golightly's  Majors. 

This  is  the  Major's  evidence  in  full  — 

4  There  was  the  sound  of  a  scuffle  in  the  second-class 


146  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

refreshment-room,  so  I  went  in  and  saw  the  most 
villainous  loafer  that  I  ever  set  eyes  on.  His  boots 
and  breeches  were  plastered  with  mud  and  beer-stains. 
He  wore  a  muddy-white  dunghill  sort  of  thing  on  his 
head,  and  it  hung  down  in  slips  on  his  shoulders,  which 
were  a  good  deal  scratched.  He  was  half  in  and  half 
out  of  a  shirt  as  nearly  in  two  pieces  as  it  could  be,  and 
he  was  begging  the  guard  to  look  at  the  name  on  the 
tail  of  it.  As  he  had  rucked  the  shirt  all  over  his  head, 
I  couldn't  at  first  see  who  he  was,  but  I  fancied  that 
he  was  a  man  in  the  first  stage  of  D.  T.  from  the  way 
he  swore  while  he  wrestled  with  his  rags.  When  he 
turned  round,  and  I  had  made  allowances  for  a  lump  as 
big  as  a  pork-pie  over  one  eye,  and  some  green  war-paint 
on  the  face,  and  some  violet  stripes  round  the  neck,  I 
saw  that  it  was  Golightly.  He  was  very  glad  to  see 
me,'  said  the  Major,  'and  he  hoped  I  would  not  tell 
the  Mess  about  it.  I  didn't,  but  you  can,  if  you  like, 
now  that  Golightly  has  gone  Home.' 

Golightly  spent  the  greater  part  of  that  summer  in 
trying  to  get  the  Corporal  and  the  two  soldiers  tried 
by  Court-Martial  for  arresting  an  '  officer  and  a  gentle- 
man.' They  were,  of  course,  very  sorry  for  their  error. 
But  the  tale  leaked  into  the  regimental  canteen,  and 
thenee  ran  about  the  Province* 


IN  THE   HOUSE   OF   SUDDHOO 

A  stone's  throw  out  on  either  hand 
From  that  well-ordered  road  we  tread, 

And  all  the  world  is  wild  and  strange : 
Churel  and  ghoul  and  Djinn  and  sprite 
Shall  bear  us  company  to-night, 
For  we  have  reached  the  Oldest  Land 

Wherein  the  Powers  of  Darkness  range. 

—  From  the  Dusk  to  the  Dawn. 

THE  house  of  Suddhoo,  near  the  Taksali  Gate,  is  two- 
storied,  with  four  carved  windows  of  old  brown  wood, 
and  a  flat  roof.  You  may  recognise  it  by  five  red 
hand-prints  arranged  like  the  Five  of  Diamonds  on  the 
whitewash  between  the  upper  windows.  Bhagwan 
Dass  the  grocer  and  a  man  who  says  he  gets  his 
living  by  seal-cutting  live  in  the  lower  story  with  a 
troop  of  wives,  servants,  friends,  and  retainers.  The 
two  upper  rooms  used  to  be  occupied  by  Janoo  and 
Azizun  and  a  little  black-and-tan  terrier  that  was 
stolen  from  an  Englishman's  house  and  given  to  Janoo 
by  a  soldier.  To-day,  only  Janoo  lives  in  the  upper 
rooms.  Suddhoo  sleeps  on  the  roof  generally,  except 
when  lie  sleeps  in  the  street.  He  used  to  go  to 
Peshawar  in  the  cold  weather  to  visit  his  son  Avho  sells 
curiosities  near  the  Edwardes'  Gate,  and  then  he  slept 
under  a  real  mud  roof.  Suddhoo  is  a  great  friend  of 

147 


148  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

mine,  because  his  cousin  had  a  son  who  secured,  thanks 
to  my  recommendation,  the  post  of  head-messenger  to 
a  big  firm  in  the  Station.  Suddhoo  says  that  God 
will  make  me  a  Lieutenant-Governor  one  of  these  days. 
I  dare  say  his  prophecy  will  come  true.  He  is  very, 
very  old,  with  white  hair  and  no  teeth  worth  showing, 
and  he  has  outlived  his  wits  —  outlived  nearly  every- 
thing except  his  fondness  for  his  son  at  Peshawar. 
Janoo  and  Azizun  are  Kashmiris,  Ladies  of  the  City, 
and  theirs  was  an  ancient  and  more  or  less  honourable 
profession  ;  but  Azizun  has  since  married  a  medical 
student  from  the  North- West  and  has  settled  down 
to  a  most  respectable  life  somewhere  near  Bareilly. 
Bhagwan  Dass  is  an  extortionate  and  an  adulterator. 
He  is  very  rich.  The  man  who  is  supposed  to  get  his 
living  by  seal-cutting  pretends  to  be  very  poor.  This 
lets  you  know  as  much  as  is  necessary  of  the  four 
principal  tenants  in  the  house  of  Suddhoo.  Then  there 
is  Me  of  course ;  but  I  am  only  the  chorus  that  comes 
in  at  the  end  to  explain  things.  So  I  do  not  count. 

Suddhoo  was  not  clever.  The  man  who  pretended 
to  cut  seals  was  the  cleverest  of  them  all  —  Bhagwan 
Dass  only  knew  how  to  lie  —  except  Janoo.  She  was 
also  beautiful,  but  that  was  her  own  affair. 

Suddhoo's  son  at  Peshawar  was  attacked  by  pleurisy, 
and  old  Suddhoo  was  troubled.  The  seal-cutter  man 
heard  of  Suddhoo's  anxiety  and  made  capital  out  of  it. 
He  was  abreast  of  the  times.  He  got  a  friend  in 
Peshawar  to  telegraph  daily  accounts  of  the  son's  health. 
And  here  the  story  begins. 

Suddhoo's  cousin's  son  told  me,  one  evening,  that 
Suddhoo  wanted  to  see  me  ;  that  he  was  too  old  and 
feeble  to  come  personally,  and  that  I  should  be  confer- 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  SUDDHOO          149 

ring  an  everlasting  honour  on  the  House  of  Suddhoo  if 
I  went  to  him.  I  went ;  but  I  think,  seeing  how  well 
off  Suddhoo  was  then,  that  he  might  have  sent  some- 
thing better  than  an  ekka,  which  jolted  fearfully,  to 
haul  out  a  future  Lieutenant-Governor  to  the  City  on 
a  muggy  April  evening.  The  ekka  did  not  run  quickly. 
It  was  full  dark  when  we  pulled  up  opposite  the  door 
of  Ranjit  Singh's  Tomb  near  the  main  gate  of  the  Fort. 
Here  was  Suddhoo,  and  he  said  that,  by  reason  of  my 
condescension,  it  was  absolutely  certain  that  I  should 
become  a  Lieutenant-Governor  while  my  hair  was  yet 
black.  Then  we  talked  about  the  weather  and  the 
state  of  my  health,  and  the  wheat  crops,  for  fifteen 
minutes,  in  the  Huzuri  Bagh,  under  the  stars. 

Suddhoo  came  to  the  point  at  last.  He  said  that 
Janoo  had  told  him  that  there  was  an  order  of  the 
Sir/car  against  magic,  because  it  was  feared  that  magic 
might  one  day  kill  the  Empress  of  India.  I  didn't 
know  anything  about  the  state  of  the  law ;  but  I  fan- 
cied that  something  interesting  was  going  to  happen. 
I  said  that  so  far  from  magic  being  discouraged  by  the 
Government  it  was  highly  commended.  The  greatest 
officials  of  the  State  practised  it  themselves.  (If  the 
Financial  Statement  isn't  magic,  I  don'i  know  what  is.) 
Then,  to  encourage  him  further,  I  said  that,  if  there  was 
any  jadoo  afoot,  I  had  not  the  least  objection  to  giving 
it  my  countenance  and  sanction,  and  to  seeing  that  it  was 
clean  jadoo  —  white  magic,  as  distinguished  from  the  un- 
clean jadoo  which  kills  folk.  It  took  a  long  time  before 
Suddhoo  admitted  that  this  was  just  what  he  had  asked 
me  to  come  for.  Then  he  told  me,  in  jerks  and  quavers, 
that  the  man  who  said  he  cut  seals  was  a  sorcerer  of 
the  cleanest  kind ;  that  every  day  he  gave  Suddhoc 


150  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

news  of  the  sick  son  in  Peshawar  more  quickly  than 
the  lightning  could  fly,  and  that  this  news  was  always 
corroborated  by  the  letters.  Further,  that  he  had  told 
Suddhoo  how  a  great  danger  was  threatening  his  son, 
which  could  be  removed  by  clean  jadoo;  and,  of  course, 
heavy  payment.  I  saw  exactly  how  the  land  lay,  and 
told  Suddhoo  that  I  also  understood  a  little  jadoo  in  the 
Western  line,  and  would  go  to  his  house  to  see  that 
everything  was  done  decently  and  in  order.  We  set 
off  together  ;  and  on  the  way  Suddhoo  told  me  that  he 
had  already  paid  the  seal-cutter  between  one  hundred 
and  two  hundred  rupees,  and  the  jadoo  of  that  night 
would  cost  two  hundred  more.  This  was  cheap,  he 
said,  considering  the  greatness  of  his  son's  danger  ;  but 
I  do  not  think  he  meant  it. 

The  lights  were  all  cloaked  in  the  front  of  the  house 
when  we  came.  I  could  hear  awful  noises  from  behind 
the  seal-cutter's  shop-front,  as  though  some  one  were 
groaning  his  soul  out.  Suddhoo  shook  all  over,  and 
while  we  groped  our  way  upstairs  told  me  that  the 
jadoo  had  begun.  Janoo  and  Azizun  met  us  at  the 
stair-head,  and  told  us  that  the  jadoo-woTk  would  take 
place  in  their  rooms,  because  there  was  more  space 
there.  Janoo  is  a  lady  of  a  freethinking  turn  of  mind. 
She  whispered  that  the  jadoo  was  an  invention  to  get 
money  out  of  Suddhoo,  and  that  the  seal-cutter  would 
go  to  a  hot  place  when  he  died.  Suddhoo  was  nearly 
crying  with  fear  and  old  age.  He  walked  up  and  down 
the  room  in  the  half-light,  repeating  his  son's  name 
over  and  over  again,  and  asking  Azizun  if  the  seal-cutter 
should  not  make  a  reduction  in  the  case  of  his  own 
landlord.  Janoo  pulled  me  over  to  the  shadow  in  the 
recess  of  the  carved  bow-windows.  The  boards  were 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  SUDDHOO  151 

up,  and  the  rooms  were  only  lit  by  one  tiny  oil-lamp. 
There  was  no  chance  of  my  being  seen  if  I  stayed  still. 

Presently,  the  groans  below  ceased,  and  we  heard 
steps  on  the  staircase.  That  was  the  seal-cutter.  He 
stopped  outside  the  door  as  the  terrier  barked  and 
Azizun  fumbled  at  the  chain,  and  he  told  Suddhoo  to 
blow  out  the  lamp.  This  left  the  place  in  jet  darkness, 
except  for  the  red  glow  from  the  two  huqas  that 
belonged  to  Janoo  and  Azizun.  The  seal-cutter  came 
in,  and  I  heard  Suddhoo  throw  himself  down  on  the 
floor  and  groan.  Azizun  caught  her  breath,  and  Janoo 
backed  on  to  one  of  the  beds  with  a  shudder.  There 
was  a  clink  of  something  metallic,  and  then  shot  up  a 
pale  blue-green  flame  near  the  ground.  The  light  was 
just  enough  to  show  Azizun,  pressed  against  one  corner 
of  the  room  with  the  terrier  between  her  knees ;  Janoo 
with  her  hands  clasped,  leaning  forward  as  she  sat  on 
the  bed :  Suddhoo,  face  down,  quivering,  and  the  seal- 
cutter. 

I  hope  I  may  never  see  another  man  like  that  seal- 
cutter.  He  was  stripped  to  the  waist,  with  a  wreath 
of  white  jasmine  as  thick  as  my  wrist  round  his  fore- 
head, i\  salmon-coloured  loin-cloth  round  his  middle, 
and  a  steel  bangle  on  each  ankle.  This  was  not  awe- 
inspiring.  It  was  the  face  of  the  man  that  turned  me 
cold.  It  was  blue -gray,  in  the  first  place.  In  the 
second,  the  eyes  were  rolled  back  till  you  could  only 
see  the  whites  of  them  ;  and,  in  the  third,  the  face  was 
the  face  of  a  demon  —  a  ghoul  —  anything  you  please 
except  of  the  sleek,  oily  old  ruffian  who  sat  in  the  day- 
time over  his  turning-lathe  downstairs.  He  was  lying 
on  his  stomach  witli  his  arms  turned  and  crossed 
behind  him,  as  if  he  had  been  thrown  down  pinioned. 


152  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

His  head  and  neck  were  the  only  parts  of  him  off  the 
floor.  They  were  nearly  at  right  angles  to  the  body, 
like  the  head  of  a  cobra  at  spring.  It  was  ghastly. 
In  the  centre  of  the  room,  on  the  bare  earth  floor,  stood 
a  big,  deep,  brass  basin,  with  a  pale  blue-green  light 
floating  in  the  centre  like  a  night-light.  Round  that 
basin  the  man  on  the  floor  wriggled  himself  three  times. 
How  he  did  it  I  do  not  know.  I  could  see  the  muscles 
ripple  along  his  spine  and  fall  smooth  again ;  but  I 
could  not  see  any  other  motion.  The  head  seemed  the 
only  thing  alive  about  him,  except  that  slow  curl  and 
uncurl  of  the  labouring  back-muscles.  Janoo  from  the 
bed  was  breathing  seventy  to  the  minute  ;  Azizun  held 
her  hands  before  her  eyes  ;  and  old  Suddhoo,  fingering 
at  the  dirt  that  had  got  into  his  white  beard,  was  crying 
to  himself.  The  horror  of  it  was  that  the  creeping, 
crawly  thing  made  no  sound  —  only  crawled  !  And, 
remember,  this  lasted  for  ten  minutes,  while  the  terrier 
whined,  and  Azizun  shuddered,  and  Janoo  gasped,  and 
Suddhoo  cried. 

I  felt  the  hair  lift  at  the  back  of  my  head,  and  my 
heart  thump  like  a  thermantidote  paddle.  Luckily,  the 
seal-cutter  betrayed  himself  by  his  most  impressive 
trick  and  made  me  calm  again.  After  he  had  finished 
that  unspeakable  triple  crawl,  he  stretched  his  head 
away  from  the  floor  as  high  as  he  could,  and  sent  out 
a  jet  of  fire  from  his  nostrils.  Now  I  knew  how  fire- 
spouting  is  done  —  I  can  do  it  myself  —  so  I  felt  at  ease. 
The  business  was  a  fraud.  If  he  had  only  kept  to  that 
crawl  without  trying  to  raise  the  effect,  goodness  knows 
what  I  might  not  have  thought.  Both  the  girls 
shrieked  at  the  jet  of  fire  and  the  head  dropped,  chin- 
down  on  the  floor,  with  a  thud ;  the  whole  body  lying 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  SUDDHOO          153 

then  like  a  corpse  with  its  arms  trussed.  There  was  a 
pause  of  five  full  minutes  after  this,  and  the  blue-green 
flame  died  down.  Janoo  stooped  to  settle  one  of  her 
anklets,  while  Azizim  turned  her  face  to  the  wall  and 
took  the  terrier  in  her  arms.  Suddhoo  put  out  an  arm 
mechanically  to  Janoo's  huqa,  and  she  slid  it  across 
the  floor  with  her  foot.  Directly  above  the  body  and 
on  the  wall,  were  a  couple  of  flaming  portraits,  in 
stamped-paper  frames,  of  the  Queen  and  the  Prince  of 
Wales.  They  looked  down  on  the  performance,  and 
to  my  thinking,  seemed  to  heighten  the  grotesqueness 
of  it  all. 

Just  when  the  silence  was  getting  unendurable,  the 
body  turned  over  and  rolled  away  from  the  basin  to 
the  side  of  the  room,  where  it  lay  stomach-up.  There 
was  a  faint  '  plop '  from  the  basin  —  exactly  like  the 
noise  a  fish  makes  when  it  takes  a  fly  —  and  the  green 
light  in  the  centre  revived. 

I  looked  at  the  basin,  and  saw,  bobbing  in  the  water, 
the  dried,  shrivelled,  black  head  of  a  native  baby  — 
open  eyes,  open  mouth,  and  shaved  scalp.  It  was 
worse,  being  so  very  sudden,  than  the  crawling  exhibi- 
tion. We  had  no  time  to  say  anything  before  it  began 
to  speak. 

Read  Poe's  account  of  the  voice  that  came  from  the 
mesmerised  dying  man,  and  you  will  realise  less  than 
one  half  of  the  horror  of  that  head's  voice. 

There  was  an  interval  of  a  second  or  two  between 
eacli  word,  and  a  sort  of  *  ring,  ring,  ring,"  in  the  note 
of  the  voice,  like  the  timbre  of  a  bell.  It  pealed  slowly, 
as  if  talking  to  itself,  for  several  minutes  before  I  got 
rid  of  my  cold  sweat.  Then  the  blessed  solution  struck 
rue.  I  looked  at  the  body  lying  near  the  doorway,  and 


154  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

saw,  just  where  the  hollow  of  the  throat  joins  on  the 
shoulders,  a  muscle  that  had  nothing  to  do  with  any 
man's  regular  breathing  twitching  away  steadily.  The 
whole  thing  was  a  careful  reproduction  of  the  Egyptian 
teraphin  that  one  reads  about  sometimes  ;  and  the  voice 
was  as  clever  and  as  appalling  a  piece  of  ventriloquism 
as  one  could  wish  to  hear.  All  this  time  the  head  was 
*  lip-lip-lapping '  against  the  side  of  the  basin,  and 
speaking.  It  told  Suddhoo,  on  his  face  again  whining, 
of  his  son's  illness  and  of  the  state  of  the  illness  up  to 
the  evening  of  that  very  night.  I  always  shall  respect 
the  seal-cutter  for  keeping  so  faithfully  to  the  time  of 
the  Peshawar  telegrams.  It  went  on  to  say  that  skilled 
doctors  were  night  and  day  watching  over  the  man's 
life  ;  and  that  he  would  eventually  recover  if  the  fee 
to  the  potent  sorcerer,  whose  servant  was  the  head  in 
the  basin,  were  doubled. 

Here  the  mistake  from  the  artistic  point  of  view 
came  in.  To  ask  for  twice  your  stipulated  fee  in  a 
voice  that  Lazarus  might  have  used  when  he  rose 
from  the  dead,  is  absurd.  Janoo,  who  is  really  a 
woman  of  masculine  intellect,  saw  this  as  quickly  as 
I  did.  I  heard  her  say  '  Asli  nahin!  Fareibf  scorn- 
fully under  her  breath ;  and  just  as  she  said  so,  the 
light  in  the  basin  died  out,  the  head  stopped  talking, 
and  we  heard  the  room  door  creak  on  its  hinges. 
Then  Janoo  struck  a  match,  lit  the  lamp,  and  we  saw 
that  head,  basin,  and  seal-cutter  were  gone.  Suddhoo 
was  wringing  his  hands  and  explaining  to  any  one  who 
cared  to  listen,  that,  if  his  chances  of  eternal  salvation 
depended  on  it,  he  could  not  raise  another  two  hundred 
rupees.  Azizun  was  nearly  in  hysterics  in  the  corner  ; 
while  Jancro  sat  down  composedly  on  one  of  the  beds 


IN  THE  HOUSE   OF  SUDDHOO  155 

to  discuss  the  probabilities  of  the  whole  thing  being  a 
bunao,  or  'make-up.' 

I  explained  as  much  as  I  knew  of  the  seal-cutter's 
way  of  jadoo ;  but  her  argument  was  much  more 
simple  — '  The  magic  that  is  always  demanding  gifts 
is  no  true  magic,'  said  she.  '  My  mother  told  me  that 
the  only  potent  love -spells  are  those  which  are  told 
you  for  love.  This  seal-cutter  man  is  a  liar  and  a 
devil.  I  dare  not  tell,  do  anything,  or  get  anything 
done,  because  I  am  in  debt  to  Bhagwan  Dass  the 
bunnia  for  two  gold  rings  and  a  heavy  anklet.  I 
must  get  my  food  from  his  shop.  The  seal-cutter  is 
the  friend  of  Bhagwan  Dass,  and  he  would  poison 
my  food.  A  fool's  jadoo  has  been  going  on  for  ten 
days,  and  has  cost  Suddhoo  many  rupees  each  night. 
The  seal-cutter  used  black  hens  and  lemons  and 
mantras  before.  He  never  showed  us  anything  like 
this  till  to-night.  Azizun  is  a  fool,  and  will  be  a 
purdahnashin  soon.  Suddhoo  has  lost  his  strength 
and  his  wits.  See  now !  I  had  hoped  to  get  from 
Suddnoo  many  rupees  while  he  lived,  and  many  more 
after  his  death  ;  and  behold,  he  is  spending  everything 
on  that  offspring  of  a  devil  and  a  she-ass,  the  seal- 
cutter  ! ' 

Here  I  said,  '  But  what  induced  Suddhoo  to  drag 
me  into  the  business?  Of  course  I  can  speak  to  the 
seal-cutter,  and  he  shall  refund.  The  whole  thing  is 
child's  talk  —  shame  —  and  senseless.' 

4  Suddhoo  is  an  old  child,'  said  Janoo.  '  He  has 
lived  on  the  roofs  these  seventy  years  and  is  as  sense- 
less as  a  milch-goat.  lie  brought  you  here  to  assure 
himself  that  he  was  not  breaking  any  law  of  the 
tSirkar.  whose  salt  he  ate  many  years  ago.  He  wor- 


156  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

ships  the  dust  off  the  feet  of  the  seal-cutter,  and  that 
cow-devourer  has  forbidden  him  to  go  and  see  his 
son.  What  does  Suddhoo  know  of  your  laws  or  the 
lightning-post  ?  I  have  to  watch  his  money  going  day 
by  day  to  that  lying  beast  below.' 

Janoo  stamped  her  foot  on  the  floor  and  nearly 
cried  with  vexation ;  while  Suddhoo  was  whimpering 
under  a  blanket  in  the  corner,  and  Azizun  was  trying 
to  guide  the  pipe-stem  to  his  foolish  old  mouth. 


Now,  the  case  stands  thus.  Unthinkingly,  I  have 
laid  myself  open  to  the  charge  of  aiding  and  abetting 
the  seal-cutter  in  obtaining  money  under  false  pre- 
tences, which  is  forbidden  by  Section  420  of  the 
Indian  Penal  Code.  I  am  helpless  in  the  matter  for 
these  reasons.  I  cannot  inform  the  Police.  What 
witnesses  would  support  my  statements  ?  Janoo  re- 
fuses flatly,  and  Azizun  is  a  veiled  woman  somewhere 
near  Bareilly  —  lost  in  this  big  India  of  ours.  I  dare 
not  again  take  the  law  into  my  own  hands,  and  speak 
to  the  seal-cutter ;  for  certain  am  I  that,  not  only 
would  Suddhoo  disbelieve  me,  but  this  step  would  end 
in  the  poisoning  of  Janoo,  who  is  bound  hand  and 
foot  by  her  debt  to  the  lunnia*  Suddhoo  is  an  old 
dotard ;  and  whenever  we  meet  mumbles  my  idiotic 
joke  that  the  Sirkar  rather  patronises  the  Black  Art 
than  otherwise.  His  son  is  well  now ;  but  Suddhoo 
is  completely  under  the  influence  of  the  seal-cutter, 
by  whose  advice  he  regulates  the  affairs  of  his  life. 
Janoo  watches  daily  the  money  that  she  hoped  to 
wheedle  out  of  Suddhoo  taken  by  the  seal-cutter, 
and  becomes  daily  more  furious  and  sullen. 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  SUDDHOO  157 

She  will  never  tell,  because  she  dare  not;  but, 
unless  something  happens  to  prevent  her,  I  am  afraid 
that  the  seal-cutter  will  die  of  cholera  —  the  white 
arsenic  kind  —  about  the  middle  of  May.  And  thus 
I  shall  be  privy  to  a  murder  in  the  House  of 
Suddhoo. 


HIS   WEDDED   WIFE 

Cry  '  Murder  ! '  in  the  market-place,  and  each 

Will  turn  upon  his  neighbour  anxious  eyes 

That  ask  — '  Art  thou  the  man  ? '     We  hunted  Cain, 

Some  centuries  ago,  across  the  world. 

That  bred  the  fear  our  own  misdeeds  maintain 

To-day. 

—  Vibarfs  Moralities. 

SHAKESPEARE  says  something  about  worms,  or  it  may 
be  giants  or  beetles,  turning  if  you  tread  on  them  too 
severely.  The  safest  plan  is  never  to  tread  on  a 
worm  —  not  even  on  the  last  new  subaltern  from 
Home,  with  his  buttons  hardly  out  of  their  tissue- 
paper,  and  the  red  of  sappy  English  beef  in  his  cheeks. 
This  is  a  story  of  the  worm  that  turned.  For  the 
sake  of  brevity,  we  will  call  Henry  Augustus  Ramsay 
Faizanne,  'The  Worm,'  though  he  really  was  an 
exceedingly  pretty  boy,  without  a  hair  on  his  face, 
and  with  a  waist  like  a  girl's,  when  he  came  out  to 
the  Second  '  Shikarris '  and  was  made  unhappy  in 
several  ways.  The  '  Shikarris '  are  a  high-caste 
regiment,  and  you  must  be  able  to  do  things  well — • 
play  a  banjo,  or  ride  more  than  little,  or  sing,  or  act 
—  to  get  on  with  them. 

The    Worm    did    nothing    but   fall    off    his    pony, 
and   knock   chips   out    of    gate-posts   with    his    trap. 

168 


HIS  WEDDED  WIFE  159 

Even  that  became  monotonous  after  a  time.  He 
objected  to  whist,  cut  the  cloth  at  billiards,  sang  out 
of  tune,  kept  very  much  to  himself,  and  wrote  to  his 
Mamma  and  sisters  at  Home.  Four  of  these  five 
things  were  vices  which  the  '  Shikarris '  objected  to 
and  set  themselves  to  eradicate.  Every  one  knows 
how  subalterns  are,  by  brother  subalterns,  softened  and 
not  permitted  to  be  ferocious.  It  is  good  and  whole- 
some, and  does  no  one  any  harm,  unless  tempers  are 
lost  ;  and  then  there  is  trouble.  There  was  a  man 
once  — 

The  '  Shikarris '  shikarred  The  Worm  very  much, 
and  he  bore  everything  without  winking.  He  was  so 
good  and  so  anxious  to  learn,  and  flushed  so  pink,  that 
his  education  was  cut  short,  and  he  was  left  to  his  own 
devices  by  every  one  except  the  Senior  Subaltern,  who 
continued  to  make  life  a  burden  to  The  Worm.  The 
Senior  Subaltern  meant  no  harm ;  but  his  chaff  was 
coarse  and  he  didn't  quite  understand  where  to  stop. 
He  had  been  waiting  too  long  for  his  Company ;  and 
that  always  sours  a  man.  Also  he  was  in  love,  which 
made  him  worse. 

One  day,  after  he  had  borrowed  The  Worm's  trap  for 
a  lady  who  never  existed,  had  used  it  himself  all  the 
afternoon,  hud  sent  a  note,  to  The  Worm,  purporting 
to  come  from  the  lady,  and  was  telling  the  Mess  all 
about  it,  The  Worm  rose  in  his  place  and  said,  in  his 
quiet,  lady-like  voice — 'That  was  a  very  pretty  sell; 
but  Fll  lay  you  a  month's  pay  to  a  month's  pay  when 
you  get  your  step,  that  1  work  a  sell  on  you  that  you'll 
remember  for  the  rest  of  your  days,  and  the  Regiment 
after  you  when  you're  dead  or  broke.'  The  Worm 
wasn't  angry  in  the  least,  and  the  rest  of  the  Mess 


160  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

shouted.  Then  the  Senior  Subaltern  looked  at  The 
Worm  from  the  boots  upwards,  and  down  again,  and 
said  — '  Done,  Baby.'  The  Worm  held  the  rest  of  the 
Mess  to  witness  that  the  bet  had  been  taken,  and  re- 
tired into  a  book  with  a  sweet  smile. 

Two  months  passed,  and  the  Senior  Subaltern  still 
educated  The  Worm,  who  began  to  move  about  a  little 
more  as  the  hot  weather  came  on.  I  have  said  that 
the  Senior  Subaltern  was  in  love.  The  curious  thing 
is  that  a  girl  was  in  love  with  the  Senior  Subaltern. 
Though  the  Colonel  said  awful  things,  and  the  Majors 
snorted,  and  the  married  Captains  looked  unutterable 
wisdom,  and  the  juniors  scoffed,  those  two  were  en- 
gaged. 

The  Senior  Subaltern  was  so  pleased  with  getting 
his  Company  and  his  acceptance  at  the  same  time  that 
he  forgot  to  bother  The  Worm.  The  girl  was  a  pretty 
girl,  and  had  money  of  her  own.  She  does  not  come 
into  this  story  at  all. 

One  night,  at  the  beginning  of  the  hot  weather,  all 
the  Mess,  except  The  Worm  who  had  gone  to  his  own 
room  to  write  Home  letters,  were  sitting  on  the  plat- 
form outside  the  Mess  House.  The  Band  had  finished 
playing,  but  no  one  wanted  to  go  in.  And  the  Cap- 
tains' wives  were  there  also.  The  folly  of  a  man  in 
love  is  unlimited.  The  Senior  Subaltern  had'  been 
holding  forth  on  the  merits  of  the  girl  he  was  engaged 
to,  and  the  ladies  were  purring  approval  while  the  men 
yawned,  when  there  was  a  rustle  of  skirts  in  the  dark, 
and  a  tired,  faint  voice  lifted  itself. 

'  Where's  my  husband  ?  ' 

I  do  not  wish  in  the  least  to  reflect  on  the  morality 
of  the  '  Shikarris '  ;  but  it  is  on  record  that  four  men 


HIS  WEDDED  WIFE  161 

jumped  up  as  if  they  had  been  shot.  Three  of  them 
were  married  men.  Perhaps  they  were  afraid  that 
their  wives  had  come  from  Home  unbeknownst.  The 
fourth  said  that  he  had  acted  on  the  impulse  of  the 
moment.  He  explained  this  afterwards. 

Then  the  voice  cried,  '  O  Lionel  !  '  Lionel  was 
the  Senior  Subaltern's  name.  A  woman  came  into 
the  little  circle  of  light  by  the  candles  on  the  peg- 
tables,  stretching  out  her  hands  to  the  dark  where  the 
Senior  Subaltern  was,  and  sobbing.  We  rose  to  our 
feet,  feeling  that  things  were  going  to  happen  and 
ready  to  believe  the  worst.  In  this  bad,  small  world 
of  ours,  one  knows  so  little  of  the  life  of  the  next  man 
—  which,  after  all,  is  entirely  his  own  concern  —  that 
one  is  not  surprised  when  a  crash  comes.  Anything 
might  turn  up  any  day  for  any  one.  Perhaps  the 
Senior  Subaltern  had  been  trapped  in  his  youth.  Men 
are  crippled  that  way  occasionally.  We  didn't  know  ; 
we  wanted  to  hear  ;  and  the  Captains'  wives  were  as 
anxious  as  we.  If  he  had  been  trapped,  he  was  to  be 
excused  ;  for  the  woman  from  nowhere,  in  the  dusty 
shoes  and  gray  travelling-dress,  was  very  lovely,  witli 
black  hair  and  great  eyes  full  of  tears.  She  was  tall, 
with  a  fine  figure,  and  her  voice  had  a  running  sob  in 
it  pitiful  to  hear.  As  soon  as  the  Senior  Subaltern 
stood  up,  she  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck,  and 
called  him  ;my  darling,'  and  said  she  could  not  bear 
waiting  alone  in  England,  and  his  letters  were  so  short 
and  cold,  and  she  was  his  to  the  end  of  the  world, 
and  would  he  forgive  her?  This  did  not  sound  quite 
like  a  lady's  way  of  speaking.  It  was  too  demon- 
strative. 

Things    seemed    black    indeed,    and    the    Captains' 


162  PLAIN  TALES   FROM  THE  HILLS 

wives  peered  under  their  eyebrows  at  the  Senior 
Subaltern,  and  the  Colonel's  face  set  like  the  Day  of 
Judgment  framed  in  gray  bristles,  and  no  one  spoke 
for  a  while. 

Next  the  Colonel  said,  very  shortly,  '  Well,  Sir  ? ' 
and  the  woman  sobbed  afresh.  The  Senior  Subaltern 
was  half  choked  with  the  arms  round  his  neck,  but  he 
gasped  out  — '  It's  a  damned  lie  !  I  never  had  a  wife  in 
my  life  ! '  — '  Don't  swear,'  said  the  Colonel.  '  Come 
into  the  Mess.  We  must  sift  this  clear  somehow,' 
and  he  sighed  to  himself,  for  he  believed  in  his  '  Shi- 
karris,'  did  the  Colonel. 

We  trooped  into  the  ante-room,  under  the  full  lights, 
and  there  we  saw  how  beautiful  the  woman  was.  She 
stood  up  in  the  middle  of  us  all,  sometimes  choking 
with  crying,  then  hard  and  proud,  and  then  holding 
out  her  arms  to  the  Senior  Subaltern.  It  was  like  the 
fourth  act  of  a  tragedy.  She  told  us  how  the  Senior 
Subaltern  had  married  her  when  he  was  Home  on  leave 
eighteen  months  before  ;  and  she  seemed  to  know  all 
that  we  knew,  and  more  too,  of  his  people  and  his  past 
life.  He  was  white  and  ashy-gray,  trying  now  and 
again  to  break  into  the  torrent  of  her  words ;  and  we, 
noting  how  lovely  she  was  and  what  a  criminal  he 
looked,  esteemed  him  a  beast  of  the  worst  kind.  We 
felt  sorry  for  him,  though. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  indictment  of  the  Senior 
Subaltern  by  his  wife.  Nor  will  he.  It  was  so  sud- 
den, rushing  out  of  the  dark,  unannounced,  into  our 
dull  lives.  The  Captains'  wives  stood  back ;  but  their 
eyes  were  alight-,  and  you  could  see  that  they  had 
already  convicted  and  sentenced  the  Senior  Subaltern. 
The  Colonel  seemed  five  years  older.  One  Major  was 


HIS  WEDDED  WIFE  163 

shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand  and  watching  the 
woman  from  underneath  it.  Another  was  chewing  his 
moustache  and  smiling  quietly  as  if  he  were  witnessing 
a  play.  Full  in  the  open  space  in  the  centre,  by  the 
whist-tables,  the  Senior  Subaltern's  terrier  was  hunting 
for  fleas.  I  remember  all  this  as  clearly  as  though  a 
photograph  were  in  my  hand.  I  remember  the  look 
of  horror  on  the  Senior  Subaltern's  face.  It  was 
rather  like  seeing  a  man  hanged ;  but  much  more 
interesting.  Finally,  the  woman  wound  up  by  saying 
that  the  Senior  Subaltern  carried  a  double  F.  M.  in 
tattoo  on  his  left  shoulder.  We  all  knew  that,  and  to 
our  innocent  minds  it  seemed  to  clinch  the  matter. 
But  one  of  the  bachelor  Majors  said  very  politely,  'I 
presume  that  your  marriage-certificate  would  be  more 
to  the  purpose  ?  ' 

That  roused  the  woman.  She  stood  up  and  sneered 
at  the  Senior  Subaltern  for  a  cur,  and  abused  the 
Major  and  the  Colonel  and  all  the  rest.  Then  she 
wept,  and  then  she  pulled  a  paper  from  her  breast, 
saying  imperially,  '  Take  that !  And  let  my  husband 
-  my  lawfully  wedded  husband  —  read  it  aloud  —  if 
he  dare  !  ' 

There  was  a  hush,  and  the  men  looked  into  each 
other's  eyes  as  the  Senior  Subaltern  came  forward  in  a 
dazed  and  dizzy  way,  and  took  the  paper.  We  were 
wondering,  as  we  stared,  whether  there  was  anything 
against  any  one  of  us  that  might  turn  up  later  on. 
The  Senior  Subaltern's  throat  was  dry;  but,  as  he  ran 
his  eye  over  the  paper,  he  broke  out  into  a  hoarse 
cackle  of  relief,  and  said  to  the  woman.  k  You  vounsf 

»'  O 

blackguard  !  '  Rut  the  woman  had  tied  through  a 
door,  and  on  the  paper  was  written,  '  This  is  to  certify 


164  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

that  I,  The  Worm,  have  paid  in  full  my  debts  to  the 
Senior  Subaltern,  and,  further,  that  the  Senior  Subaltern 
is  my  debtor,  by  agreement  on  the  23d  of  February, 
as  by  the  Mess  attested,  to  the  extent  of  one  month's 
Captain's  pay,  in  the  lawful  currency  of  the  Indian 
Empire.' 

Then  a  deputation  set  off  for  The  Worm's  quarters 
and  found  him,  betwixt  and  between,  unlacing  his 
stays,  with  the  hat,  wig,  and  serge  dress,  on  the  bed. 
He  came  over  as  he  was,  and  the  '  Shikarris '  shouted 
till  the  Gunners'  Mess  sent  over  to  know  if  they  might 
have  a  share  of  the  fun.  I  think  we  were  all,  except 
the  Colonel  and  the  Senior  Subaltern,  a  little  disap- 
pointed that  the  scandal  had  come  to  nothing.  But 
that  is  human  nature.  There  could  be  no  two  words 
about  The  Worm's  acting.  It  leaned  as  near  to  a 
nasty  tragedy  as  anything  this  side  of  a  joke  can. 
When  most  of  the  Subalterns  sat  upon  him  with  sofa- 
cushions  to  find  out  why  he  had  not  said  that  acting 
was  his  strong  point,  he  answered  very  quietly,  '  I  don't 
think  you  ever  asked  me.  I  used  to  act  at  Home  with 
my  sisters.'  But  no  acting  with  girls  could  account 
for  The  Worm's  display  that  night.  Personally,  I 
think  it  was  in  bad  taste.  Besides  being  dangerous. 
There  is  no  sort  of  use  in  playing  with  fire,  even  for 
fun. 

The  '  Shikarris '  made  him  President  of  the  Regi- 
mental Dramatic  Club  ;  and,  when  the  Senior  Subal- 
tern paid  up  his  debt,  which  he  did  at  once,  The  Worm 
sank  the  money  in  scenery  and  dresses.  He  was  a 
good  Worm ;  and  the  '  Shikarris  '  are  proud  of  him. 
The  only  drawback  is  that  he  has  been  christened 
*  Mrs.  Senior  Subaltern ' ;  and,  as  there  are  now  two 


HIS  WEDDED  WIFE  165 

Mrs.  Senior  Subalterns  in  the  Station,  this  is  sometimes 
confusing  to  strangers. 

Later  on,  I  will  tell  you  of  a  case  something  like 
this,  but  with  all  the  jest  left  out  and  nothing  in  it  but 
real  trouble. 


THE   BROKEN-LINK   HANDICAP 

While  the  snaffle  holds,  or  the  long-neck  stings, 
While  the  big  beam  tilts,  or  the  last  bell  rings, 
While  horses  are  horses  to  train  and  to  race, 
Then  women  and  wine  take  a  second  place 

For  me  —  for  me  — 

While  a  short  '  ten-three ' 
Has  a  field  to  squander  or  fence  to  face  ! 

—  Song  of  the  G.  JR. 

THERE  are  more  ways  of  running  a  horse  to  suit  your 
book  than  pulling  his  head  off  in  the  straight.  Some 
men  forget  this.  Understand  clearly  that  all  racing  is 
rotten  —  as  everything  connected  with  losing  money 
must  be.  In  India,  in  addition  to  its  inherent  rotten- 
ness, it  has  the  merit  of  being  two-thirds  sham  ;  look- 
ing pretty  on  paper  only.  Every  one  knows  every  one 
else  far  too  well  for  business  purposes.  How  on  earth 
can  you  rack  and  harry  and  post  a  man  for  his  losings, 
when  you  are  fond  of  his  wife,  and  live  in  the  same 
Station  with  him?  He  says,  'On  the  Monday  follow- 
ing,' '  I  can't  settle  just  yet.'  You  say,  '  All  right,  old 
man,'  and  think  yourself  lucky  if  you  pull  off  nine 
hundred  out  of  a  two-thousand-rupee  debt.  Any  way 
you  look  at  it,  Indian  racing  is  immoral,  and  expen- 
sively immoral.  Which  is  much  worse.  If  a  man 
wants  your  money,  he  ought  to  ask  for  it,  or  send 

166 


THE  BROKEN-LINK  HANDICAP  167 

round  a  subscription-list,  instead  of  juggling  about  the 
country,  with  an  Australian  larrikin ;  a  '  brumby,' 
with  as  much  breed  as  the  boy ;  a  brace  of  chumars 
in  gold-laced  caps ;  three  or  four  e/c&a-ponies  with 
hogged  manes,  and  a  switch-tailed  demirep  of  a  mare 
called  Arab  because  she  has  a  kink  in  her  flag.  Rac- 
ing leads  to  the  shroff  quicker  than  anj^thing  else. 
But  if  you  have  no  conscience  and  no  sentiments,  and 
good  hands,  and  some  knowledge  of  pace,  and  ten 
years'  experience  of  horses,  and  several  thousand 
rupees  a  month,  I  believe  that  you  can  occasionally 
contrive  to  pay  your  shoeing-bills. 

Did   vou   ever   know  Shackles  —  b.  w.  g.,  15.  If  — 

•J  .  o     7  o 

coarse,  loose,  mule-like  ears  —  barrel  as  long  as  a  gate- 
post—  tough  as  a  telegraph-wire  —  and  the  queerest 
brute  that  ever  looked  through  a  bridle  ?  He  was  of 
no  brand,  being  one  of  an  ear-nicked  mob  taken  into 
the  Bucephalus  at  £4 :  10s.  a  head  to  make  up  freight, 
and  sold  raw  and  out  of  condition  at  Calcutta  for 
Rs.275.  People  who  lost  money  on  him  called  him 
a  '  brumby ' ;  but  if  ever  any  horse  had  Harpoon's 
shoulders  and  The  Gin's  temper,  Shackles  was  that 
horse.  TAVO  miles  was  his  own  particular  distance. 
He  trained  himself,  ran  himself,  and  rode  himself  ; 
and,  if  his  jockey  insulted  him  by  giving  him  hints, 
ho  shut  up  at  once  and  bucked  the  boy  off.  He 
objected  to  dictation.  Two  or  three  of  his  owners  did 
not  understand  this,  and  lost  money  in  consequence. 
At  last  lie  was  bought  by  a  man  who  discovered  that, 
if  a  race  was  to  be  won,  Shackles,  and  Shackles  only, 
would  win  it  in  his  own  way,  so  long  as  his  jockey 
sat  still.  This  man  had  a  riding-boy  called  Brunt — • 
a  lad  from  Perth,  West  Australia  —  and  he  taught 


168          PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

Brunt,  with  a  trainer's  whip,  the  hardest  thing  a  jock 
can  learn — to  sit  still,  to  sit  still,  and  to  keep  on 
sitting  still.  When  Brunt  fairly  grasped  this  truth, 
Shackles  devastated  the  country.  No  weight  could 
stop  him  at  his  own  distance  ;  and  the  fame  of  Shackles 
spread  from  Ajmir  in  the  South,  to  Chedputter  in  the 
North.  There  was  no  horse  like  Shackles,  so  long  as 
he  was  allowed  to  do  his  work  in  his  own  way.  But 
he  was  beaten  in  the  end ;  and  the  story  of  his  fall  is 
enough  to  make  angels  weep. 

At  the  lower  end  of  the  Chedputter  race-course, 
just  before  the  turn  into  the  straight,  the  track  passes 
close  to  a  couple  of  old  brick-mounds  enclosing  a 
funnel-shaped  hollow.  The  big  end  of  the  funnel  is 
not  six  feet  from  the  railings  on  the  off-side.  The 
astounding  peculiarity  of  the  course  is  that,  if  you 
stand  at  one  particular  place,  about  half  a  mile  away, 
inside  the  course,  and  speak  at  ordinary  pitch,  your 
voice  just  hits  the  funnel  of  the  brick-mounds  and 
makes  a  curious  whining  echo  there.  A  man  dis- 
covered this  one  morning  by  accident  while  out  train- 
ing with  a  friend.  He  marked  the  place  to  stand  and 
speak  from  with  a  couple  of  bricks,  and  lie  kept  his 
knowledge  to  himself.  Every  peculiarity  of  a  course 
is  worth  remembering  in  a  countr}'  where  rats  play  the 
mischief  with  the  elephant-litter,  and  Stewards  build 
jumps  to  suit  their  own  stables.  This  man  ran  a 
very  fairish  country-bred,  a  long,  racking  high  mare 
with  the  temper  of  a  fiend,  and  the  paces  of  an  airy 
wandering  seraph  —  a  drifty,  glidy  stretch.  The  mare 
was,  as  a  delicate  tribute  to  Mrs.  Reiver,  called 
'The  Lady  Regula  Baddun'-— or,  for  short,  Regula 
Baddun. 


THE  BROKEN-LINK  HANDICAP  169 

Shackles'  jockey,  Brunt,  was  a  quite  well  behaved 
boy,  but  his  nerve  had  been  shaken.  He  began  his 
career  by  riding  jump-races  in  Melbourne,  where  a  few 
Stewards  want  lynching,  and  was  one  of  the  jockeys 
who  came  through  the  awful  butchery  —  perhaps  you 
will  recollect  it  —  of  the  Maribyrnong  Plate.  The  walls 
were  colonial  ramparts  —  logs  of  jarrah  spiked  into 
masonry  —  with  wings  as  strong  as  Church  buttresses. 
Once  in  his  stride,  a  horse  had  to  jump  or  fall.  He 
couldn't  run  out.  In  the  Maribyrnong  Plate,  twelve 
horses  were  jammed  at  the  second  wall.  Red  Hat, 
leading,  fell  this  side,  and  threw  out  The  Gled,  and  the 
ruck  came  up  behind  and  the  space  between  wing  and 
wing  was  one  struggling,  screaming,  kicking  shambles. 
Four  jockeys  were  taken  out  dead;  three  were  very 
badly  hurt,  and  Brunt  was  among  the  three.  He  told 
the  story  of  the  Maribyrnong  Plate  sometimes;  and 
when  he  described  how  Whalley  on  Red  Hat  said,  as 
the  mare  fell  under  him  — '  God  ha'  mercy,  I'm  done 
for  !  '  and  how,  next  instant,  Sithee  There  and  White 
Otter  had  crushed  the  life  out  of  poor  Whalley,  and 
the  dust  hid  a  small  hell  of  men  and  horses,  no  one 
marvelled  that  Brunt  had  dropped  jump-races  and 
Australia  together.  Regula  Baddun's  owner  knew  that 
story  by  heart.  Brunt  never  varied  it  in  the  telling. 
He  had  no  education. 

Shackles  came  to  the  Chedputter  Autumn  races  one 
year,  and  his  owner  walked  about  insulting  the  sports- 
mtMi  of  Chedputter  generally,  till  they  went  to  the 
Honorary  Secretary  in  a  body  and  said,  '  Appoint 
luindicappers,  and  arrange  a  race  which  shall  break 
Shackles  and  humble  the  pride  of  his  owner.'  The 
Districts  rose  against  Shackles  and  sent  up  of  their 


170  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

best;  Ousel,  who  was  supposed  to  be  able  to  do  his 
mile  in  1-53 ;  Petard,  the  stud-bred,  trained  by  a 
cavalry  regiment  who  knew  how  to  train ;  Gringalet, 
the  ewe-lamb  of  the  75th ;  Bobolink,  the  pride  of 
Peshawar;  and  many  others. 

They  called  that  race  the  Broken-Link  Handicap, 
because  it  was  to  smash  Shackles ;  and  the  Handi- 
cappers  piled  on  the  weights,  and  the  Fund  gave  eight 
hundred  rupees,  and  the  distance  was  '  round  the  course 
for  all  horses.'  Shackles'  owner  said,  '  You  can  arrange 
the  race  with  regard  to  Shackles  only.  So  long  as  you 
don't  bury  him  under  weight-cloths,  I  don't  rnind.' 
Regula  Baddun's  owner  said,  '  I  throw  in  my  mare 
to  fret  Ousel.  Six  furlongs  is  Regula's  distance,  and 
she  will  then  lie  down  and  die.  So  also  will  Ousel, 
for  his  jockey  doesn't  understand  a  waiting  race.' 
Now,  this  was  a  lie,  for  Regula  had  been  in  work  for 
two  months  at  Dehra,  and  her  chances  were  good, 
always  supposing  that  Shackles  broke  a  blood-vessel  — 
or  Brunt  moved  on  him. 

The  plunging  in  the  lotteries  was  fine.  They  filled 
eight  thousand-rupee  lotteries  on  the  Broken-Link 
Handicap,  and  the  account  in  the  Pioneer  said  that 
'favouritism  was  divided.'  In  plain  English,  the 
various  contingents  were  wild  on  their  respective 
horses ;  for  the  Handicappers  had  done  their  work 
well.  The  Honorary  Secretary  shouted  himself  hoarse 
through  the  din ;  and  the  smoke  of  the  cheroots  was 
like  the  smoke,  and  the  rattling  of  the  dice-boxes  like 
the  rattle  of  small-arm  fire. 

Ten  horses  started  —  very  level  —  and  Regula  Bad- 
dun's  owner  cantered  out  on  his  hack  to  a  place  inside 
the  circle  of  the  course,  where  two  bricks  had  been 


THE  BROKEN-LINK  HANDICAP  171 

thrown.  He  faced  towards  the  brick-mounds  at  the 
lower  end  of  the  course  and  waited. 

The  story  of  the  running  is  in  the  Pioneer.  At  the 
end  of  the  first  mile,  Shackles  crept  out  of  the  ruck, 
well  on  the  outside,  ready  to  get  round  the  turn,  lay 
hold  of  the  bit  and  spin  up  the  straight  before  the 
others  knew  he  had  got  away.  Brunt  was  sitting  still, 
perfectly  happy,  listening  to  the  '  drum-drum-drum ' 
of  the  hoofs  behind,  and  knowing  that,  in  about  twenty 
strides,  Shackles  would  draw  one  deep  breath  and  go 
up  the  last  half-mile  like  the  'Flying  Dutchman.'  As 
Shackles  went  short  to  take  the  turn  and  came  abreast 
of  the  brick-mound,  Brunt  heard,  above  the  noise  of  the 
wind  in  his  ears,  a  whining,  wailing  voice  on  the  off- 
side, saying  —  '  God  ha'  mercy,  I'm  done  for  ! '  In 
one  stride,  Brunt  saw  the  whole  seething  smash  of  the 
Maribyrnong  Plate  before  him,  started  in  his  saddle 
and  gave  a  yell  of  terror.  The  start  brought  the  heels 
into  Shackles'  side,  and  the  scream  hurt  Shackles" 
feelings.  He  couldn't  stop  dead ,  but  he  put  out  his 
feet  and  slid  along  for  fifty  yards,  and  then,  very 
gravely  and  judicially,  bucked  off  Brunt  —  a  shaking, 
terror-stricken  lump,  while  Regula  Baddun  made  a 
neck-and-neck  race  with  Bobolink  up  the  straight,  and 
won  by  a  short  head — Petard  a  bad  third.  Shackles' 
owner,  in  the  Stand,  tried  to  think  that  his  field-glasses 
had  gone  wr\.ng.  Regula  Baddun's  owner,  waiting  by 
the  two  bricks,  gave  one  deep  sigh  of  relief,  and  cantered 
back  to  the  Stand.  He  had  won,  in  lotteries  and  bets, 
about  fifteen  thousand. 

It  was  a  Broken-Link  Handicap  with  a  vengeance. 
It  broke  nearly  all  the  men  concerned,  and  nearly  broke 
the  heart  of  Shackle^'  owner.  He  went  down  to  inter- 


172  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

view  Brunt.  The  boy  lay,  livid  and  gasping  with 
fright,  where  he  had  tumbled  off.  The  sin  of  losing 
the  race  never  seemed  to  strike  him.  All  he  knew 
was  that  Whalley  had  '  called '  him,  that  the  '  ca]l ' 
was  a  warning  ;  and,  were  he  cut  in  two  for  it,  he 
would  never  get  up  again.  His  nerve  had  gone  alto- 
gether, and  he  only  asked  his  master  to  give  him  a 
good  thrashing,  and  let  him  go.  He  was  fit  for  no- 
thing, he  said.  He  got  his  dismissal,  and  crept  up  to 
the  paddock,  white  as  chalk,  with  blue  lips,  his  knees 
giving  way  under  him.  People  said  nasty  things  in 
the  paddock;  but  Brunt  never  heeded.  He  changed 
into  tweeds,  took  his  stick  and  went  down  the  road, 
still  shaking  with  fright,  and  muttering  over  and  over 
again  —  '  God  ha1  mercy,  I'm  done  for  !  '  To  the  best 
of  my  knowledge  and  belief  he  spoke  the  truth. 

So  now  you  know  how  the  Broken-Link  Handicap 
was  run  and  won.  Of  course  you  don't  believe  it. 
You  would  credit  anything  about  Russia's  designs  on 
India,  or  the  recommendations  of  the  Currency  Com- 
mission; but  a  little  bit  of  sober  fact  is  more  than  you 
can  stand. 


BEYOND  THE  PALE 

Love  heeds  not  caste  nor  sleep  a  broken  bed.  I  went  in  search  of 
love  and  lost  myself.  —  Hindu  Proverb. 

A  MAN  should,  whatever  happens,  keep  to  his  own 
caste,  race  and  breed.  Let  the  White  go  to  the  White 
and  the  Black  to  the  Black.  Then,  whatever  trouble 
falls  is  in  the  ordinary  course  of  things  —  neither  sudden, 
alien  nor  unexpected. 

This  is  the  story  of  a  man  who  wilfully  stepped 
beyond  the  safe  limits  of  decent  everyday  society,  and 
paid  for  it  heavily. 

He  knew  too  much  in  the  first  instance ;  and  he 
saw  too  much  in  the  second.  He  took  too  deep  an 
interest  in  native  life ;  but  he  will  never  do  so  again. 

Deep  away  in  the  heart  of  the  City,  behind  Jitha 
Megji's  bustee,  lies  Amir  Nath's  Gully,  which  ends  in  a 
dead-wall  pierced  by  one  grated  window.  At  the  head 
of  the  Gully  is  a  big  cowbyre,  and  the  walls  on  either 
side  of  the  Gully  are  without  windows.  Neither  Suchet 
Singh  nor  Gaur  Chand  approve  of  their  women-folk 
looking  into  the  world.  If  Durga  Charan  had  been  of 
their  opinion,  he  would  have  been  a  happier  man  to-day, 
and  little  Bisesa  would  have  been  able  to  knead  her 
own  bread.  Her  room  looked  out  through  the  grated 
window  into  the  narrow  dark  Gully  where  the  sun 

173 


174  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

never  came  and  where  the  buffaloes  wallowed  in  the 
blue  slime.  She  was  a  widow,  fifteen  years  old,  and 
she  prayed  the  Gods,  day  and  night,  to  send  her  a  lover ; 
for  she  did  not  approve  of  living  alone. 

One  day,  the  man — Trejago  was  his  name — caine 
into  Amir  Nath's  Gully  on  a  wandering ;  and,  after  he 
had  passed  the  buffaloes,  stumbled  over  a  big  heap  of 
cattle-food. 

Then  he  saw  that  the  Gully  ended  in  a  trap,  and 
heard  a  little  laugh  from  behind  the  grated  window. 
It  was  a  pretty  little  laugh,  and  Trejago,  knowing  that, 
for  all  practical  purposes,  the  old  Arabian  Nights  are 
good  guides,  went  forward  to  the  window,  and  whispered 
that  verse  of  '  The  Love  Song  of  Har  Dyal '  which 
begins : — 

Can  a  man  stand  upright  in  the  face  of  the  naked  Sun ;  or 
a  Lover  in  the  Presence  of  his  Beloved  ? 

If  my  feet  fail  me,  O  Heart  of  my  Heart,  am  I  to  blame, 
being  blinded  by  the  glimpse  of  your  beauty? 

There  came  the  faint  tcliink  of  a  woman's  bracelets 
from  behind  the  grating,  and  a  little  voice  went  on  with 
the  song  at  the  fifth  verse :  — 

Alas !  alas !  Can  the  Moon  tell  the  Lotus  of  her  love  when 
the  Gate  of  Heaven  is  shut  and  the  clouds  gather  for  the  rains? 

They  have  taken  my  Beloved,  and  driven  her  with  the  pack- 
horses  to  the  North. 

There  are  iron  chains  on  the  feet  that  were  set  on  my 
heart. 

Call  to  the  bowmen  to  make  ready 

The  voice  stopped  suddenly,  and  Trejago  walked 
out  of  Amir  Nath's  Gully,  wondering  who  in  the  world 
could  have  capped  '  The  Love  Song  of  Har  Dyal '  so 
neatly. 


BEYOND  THE  PALE  175 

Next  morning,  as  he  was  driving  to  office,  an  old 
woman  threw  a  packet  into  his  dogcart.  In  the  packet 
was  the  half  of  a  broken  glass-bangle,  one  flower  of  the 
blood-red  dhak,  a  pinch  of  bhusa  or  cattle-food,  and 
eleven  cardamoms.  That  packet  was  a  letter  —  not  a 
clumsy  compromising  letter,  but  an  innocent  unintel- 
ligible lover's  epistle. 

Trejago  knew  far  too  much  about  these  things,  as  I 
have  said.  No  Englishman  should  be  able  to  translate 
object-letters.  But  Trejago  spread  all  the  trifles  on  the 
lid  of  his  office-box  and  began  to  puzzle  them  out. 

A  broken  glass-bangle  stands  for  a  Hindu  widow  all 
India  over ;  because,  when  her  husband  dies,  a  woman's 
bracelets  are  broken  on  her  wrists.  Trejago  saw  the 
meaning  of  the  little  bit  of  the  glass.  The  flower  of 
the  dhak  means  diversely  'desire,'  'come,'  'write,'  or 
'  danger,'  according  to  the  other  things  with  it.  One 
cardamom  means  '  jealousy ' ;  but  when  any  article  is 
duplicated  in  an  object-letter,  it  loses  its  symbolic 
meaning  and  stands  merely  for  one  of  a  number  indi- 
cating time,  or,  if  incense,  curds,  or  saffron  be  sent  also, 
place.  The  message  ran  then  —  'A  widow  —  dhak 
flower  and  bhusa,  —  at  eleven  o'clock.'  The  pinch  of 
bhusa  enlightened  Trejago.  He  saw  —  this  kind  of 
letter  leaves  much  to  instinctive  knowledge  —  that  the 
bhusa  referred  to  the  big  heap  of  cattle-food  over  which 
he  had  fallen  in  Amir  Nath's  Gully,  and  that  the 
message  must  come  from  the  person  behind  the  grating  ; 
she  being  a  widow.  So  the  message  ran  then  —  *  A 
widow,  in  the  Gully  in  which  is  the  heap  of  bhusa, 
desires  you  to  come  at  eleven  o'clock.' 

Trejago  threw  all  the  rubbish  into  the  lireplace  and 
laughed.  He  knew  that  men  in  the  East  do  not  make 


176  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

love  under  windows  at  eleven  in  the  forenoon,  nor  do 
women  fix  appointments  a  week  in  advance.  So  he 
went,  that  very  night  at  eleven,  into  Amir  Nath's 
Gully,  clad  in  a  boorka,  which  cloaks  a  man  as  well  as 
a  woman.  Directly  the  gongs  of  the  City  made  the 
hour,  the  little  voice  behind  the  grating  took  up  '  The 
Love  Song  of  Har  Dyal '  at  the  verse  where  the  Pan- 
than  girl  calls  upon  Har  Dyal  to  return.  The  song  is 
really  pretty  in  the  Vernacular.  In  English  you  miss 
the  wail  of  it.  It  runs  something  like  this  — 

Alone  upon  the  housetops,  to  the  North 

I  turn  and  watch  the  lightning  in  the  sky,  — 

The  glamour  of  thy  footsteps  in  the  North, 
Come  back  to  me,  Beloved,  or  I  die  ! 

Below  my  feet  the  still  bazar  is  laid, 

Far,  far,  below  the  weary  camels  lie,  — 
The  camels  and  the  captives  of  thy  raid. 
Come  back  to  me,  Beloved,  or  I  die ! 

My  father's  wife  is  old  and  harsh  with  years, 
And  drudge  of  all  my  father's  house  am  I.  — 

My  bread  is  sorrow  and  my  drink  is  tears, 
Come  back  to  me,  Beloved,  or  I  die .' 

As  the  song  stopped,  Trejago  stepped  up  under  the 
grating  and  whispered — 'I  am  here.' 

Bisesa  was  good  to  look  upon. 

That  night  was  the  beginning  of  many  strange  things, 
and  of  a  double  life  so  wild  that  Trejago  to-day  some- 
times wonders  if  it  were  not  all  a  dream.  Bisesa,  or 
her  old  handmaiden  who  had  thrown  the  object-letter, 
had  detached  the  heavy  grating  from  the  brick-work  of 
the  wall ;  so  that  the  window  slid  inside,  leaving  only 
a  square  of  raw  masonry  into  which  an  active  man 
might  climb. 


BEYOND  THE  PALE  177 

In  the  day-time,  Trejago  drove  through  his  routine 
of  office-work,  or  put  on  his  calling-clothes  and  called 
on  the  ladies  of  the  Station ;  wondering  how  long  they 
would  know  him  if  they  knew  of  poor  little  Bisesa. 
At  night,  when  all  the  City  was  still,  came  the  walk 
under  the  evil-smelling  boorka,  the  patrol  through  Jitha 
Megji's  bustee,  the  quick  turn  into  Amir  Nath's  Gully 
between  the  sleeping  cattle  and  the  dead  walls,  and 
then,  last  of  all,  Bisesa,  and  the  deep,  even  breathing 
of  the  old  woman  who  slept  outside  the  door  of  the 
bare  little  room  that  Durga  Charan  allotted  to  his 
sister's  daughter.  Who  or  what  Durga  Charan  was, 
Trejago  never  inquired;  and  why  in  the  world  he  was 
not  discovered  and  knifed  never  occurred  to  him  till 
his  madness  was  over,  and  Bisesa  .  .  .  But  this  comes 
later. 

Bisesa  was  an  endless  delight  to  Trejago.  She  was 
as  ignorant  as  a  bird  ;  and  her  distorted  versions  of  the 
rumours  from  the  outside  world  that  had  reached  her 
in  her  room,  amused  Trejago  almost  as  much  as  her 
lisping  attempts  to  pronounce  his  name  — '  Christopher.' 
The  first  syllable  was  always  more  than  she  could 
manage,  and  she  made  funny  little  gestures  with  her 
roseleaf  hands,  as  one  throwing  the  name  away,  and 
then,  kneeling  before  Trejago  asked  him,  exactly  as  an 
Englishwoman  would  do,  it'  he  were  sure  he  loved  her. 
Trejago  swore  that  he  loved  her  more  than  any  one  else 
in  the  world.  Which  was  true. 

After  a  month  of  this  folly,  the  exigencies  of  his 
other  life  compelled  Tivjago  to  be  especially  attentive 
to  a  lady  of  his  acquaintance.  You  may  take  it  for  a 
fact  that  anything  of  this  kind  is  not  only  noticed  and 
discussed  by  a  man's  own  race  but  by  some  hundred 


178  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

and  fifty  natives  as  well.  Trejago  had  to  walk  with 
this  lady  and  talk  to  her  at  the  Band  stand,  and  once 
or  twice  to  drive  with  her  ;  never  for  an  instant  dream- 
ing that  this  would  affect  his  dearer,  out-of-the-way 
life.  But  the  news  flew,  in  the  usual  mysterious  fash- 
Ion,  from  mouth  to  mouth,  till  Bisesa's  duenna  heard 
of  it  and  told  Bisesa.  The  child  was  so  troubled  that 
she  did  the  household  work  evilly,  and  was  beaten  by 
Durga  Charan's  wife  in  consequence. 

A  week  later,  Bisesa  taxed  Trejago  with  the  flirta- 
tion. She  understood  no  gradations  and  spoke  openly. 
Trejago  laughed  and  Bisesa  stamped  her  little  feet  — 
little  feet,  light  as  marigold  flowers,  that  could  lie  in 
the  palm  of  a  man's  one  hand. 

Much  that  is  written  about  Oriental  passion  and 
impulsiveness  is  exaggerated  and  compiled  at  second- 
hand, but  a  little  of  it  is  true  ;  and  when  an  Englishman 
finds  that  little,  it  is  quite  as  startling  as  any  passion 
in  his  own  proper  life.  Bisesa  raged  and  stormed,  and 
finally  threatened  to  kill  herself  if  Trejago  did  not  at 
once  drop  the  alien  Memsahib  who  had  come  between 
them.  Trejago  tried  to  explain,  and  to  show  her  that 
she  did  not  understand  these  things  from  a  Western 
standpoint.  Bisesa  drew  herself  up,  and  said  simply  — 

'  I  do  not.  I  know  only  this  —  it  is  not  good  that 
I  should  have  made  you  dearer  than  my  own  heart  to 
me,  Sahib.  You  are  an  Englishman.  I  am  only  a 
black  girl '  —  she  was  fairer  than  bar-gold  in  the  Mint, 
—  '  and  the  widow  of  a  black  man.' 

Then  she  sobbed  and  said  — '  But  on  my  soul  and 
my  Mother's  soul,  I  love  you.  There  shall  no  harm 
come  to  you,  whatever  happens  to  me.' 

Trejago  argued  with  the  child,  and  tried  to  sootha 


BEYOND  THE  PALE  179 

iier,  but  she  seemed  quite  unreasonably  disturbed.  No- 
thing would  satisfy  her  save  that  all  relations  between 
them  should  end.  He  was  to  go  away  at  once.  And 
he  went.  As  he  dropped  out  of  the  window,  she  kissed 
his  forehead  twice,  and  he  walked  home  wondering. 

A  week,  and  then  three  weeks,  passed  without  a  sign 
from  Bisesa.  Trejago,  thinking  that  the  rupture  had 
lasted  quite  long  enough,  went  down  to  Amir  Nath's 
Gully  for  the  fifth  time  in  the  three  weeks,  hoping  that 
his  rap  at  the  sill  of  the  shifting  grating  would  be 
answered.  He  was  not  disappointed. 

There  was  a  young  moon,  and  one  stream  of  light  fell 
down  into  Amir  Nath's  Gully,  and  struck  the  grating 
which  was  drawn  away  as  he  knocked.  From  the  black 
dark,  Bisesa  held  out  her  arms  into  the  moonlight. 
Both  hands  had  been  cut  off  at  the  wrists,  and  the 
stumps  were  nearly  healed. 

Then,  as  Bisesa  bowed  her  head  between  her  arms  and 
sobbed,  some  one  in  the  room  grunted  like  a  wild  beast, 
and  something  sharp — knife,  sword,  or  spear — thrust  at 
Trejago  in  his  boorka.  The  stroke  missed  his  body,  but 
cut  into  one  of  the  muscles  of  the  groin,  and  he  limped 
slightly  from  the  wound  for  the  rest  of  his  days. 

The  grating  slid  into  its  place.  There  was  no  sign 
whatever  from  inside  the  house,  —  nothing  but  the 
moonlight  strip  on  the  high  wall,  and  the  blackness  of 
Amir  Nath's  Gully  behind. 

The  next  thing  Trejago  remembers,  after  raging  and 
shouting  like  a  madman  between  those  pitiless  walls, 
is  that  he  found  himself  near  the  river  as  the  dawn 
was  breaking,  threw  away  his  boorka  and  went  home 
bareheaded. 

*•*•*** 


180  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

What  was  the  tragedy  —  whether  Bisesa  had,  in  a  fit 
of  causeless  despair,  told  everything,  or  the  intrigue  had 
been  discovered  and  she  tortured  to  tell ;  whether 
Durga  Charan  knew  his  name  and  what  became  of 
Bisesa  —  Trejago  does  not  know  to  this  day.  Some- 
thing horrible  had  happened,  and  the  thought  of  what 
it  must  have  been,  comes  upon  Trejago  in  the  night 
now  and  again,  and  keeps  him  company  till  the  morn- 
ing. One  special  feature  of  the  case  is  that  he  does 
not  know  where  lies  the  front  of  Durga  Charan's  house. 
It  may  open  on  to  a  courtyard  common  to  two  or  more 
houses,  or  it  may  lie  behind  any  one  of  the  gates  of 
Jitha  Megji's  bustee.  Trejago  cannot  tell.  He  cannot 
get  Bisesa  —  poor  little  Bisesa — back  again.  He  has  lost 
her  in  the  City  where  each  man's  house  is  as  guarded 
and  as  unknowable  as  the  grave  ;  and  the  grating  that 
opens  into  Amir  Nath's  Gully  has  been  walled  up. 

But  Trejago  pays  his  calls  regularly,  and  is  reckoned 
a  very  decent  sort  of  man. 

There  is  nothing  peculiar  about  him,  except  a  slight 
stiffness,  caused  by  a  riding-strain,  in  the  right  leg. 


IN  ERROR 

They  burnt  a  corpse  upon  the  sand  — 

The  light  shone  out  afar ; 
It  guided  home  the  plunging  boats 

That  beat  from  Zanzibar. 
Spirit  of  Fire,  where'er  Thy  altars  rise, 
Thou  art  Light  of  Guidance  to  our  eyes  ! 

—  Salsctte  Boat-Song, 

THERE  is  hope  for  a  man  who  gets  publicly  and 
riotously  drunk  more  often  than  he  ought  to  do  ; 
but  there  is  no  hope  for  the  man  who  drinks  secretly 
and  alone  in  his  own  house  —  that  man  who  is  never 
seen  to  drink. 

This  is  a  rule ;  so  there  must  be  an  exception  to 
prove  it.  Moriarty's  case  was  that  exception. 

He  was  a  Civil  Engineer,  and  the  Government,  very 
kindly,  put  him  quite  by  himself  in.  an  out-district,  with 
nobody  but  natives  to  talk  to  and  a  great  deal  of  work 
to  do.  He  did  his  work  well  in  the  four  years  he  was 
utterly  alone  ;  but  he  picked  up  the  vice  of  secret  and 
solitary  drinking,  and  came  up  out  of  the  wilderness 
more  old  and  worn  and  haggard  than  the  dead-alive 

o  o 

life  had  any  right  to  make  him.  You  know  the  saying 
that  a  man  who  has  been  alone  in  the  jungle  for  more 
than  a  year  is  never  quite  sane  all  his  life  after.  People 
credited  Moriarty's  queerness  of  manner  and  moody 

181 


182  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

ways  to  the  solitude,  and  said  that  it  showed  how 
Government  spoilt  the  futures  of  its  best  men.  Mori- 
arty  had  built  himself  the  plinth  of  a  very  good  repu- 
tation in  the  bridge-dam-girder  line.  But  he  knew, 
every  night  of  the  week,  that  he  was  taking  steps  to 
undermine  that  reputation  with  L.  L.  L.  and  Chris- 
topher and  little  nips  of  liqueurs,  and  filth  of  that 
kind.  He  had  a  sound  constitution  and  a  great  brain, 
or  else  he  would  have  broken  down  and  died  like  a  sick 
camel  in  the  district.  As  better  men  have  done  before 
him. 

Government  ordered  him  to  Simla  after  he  had  come 
out  of  the  desert ;  and  he  went  up  meaning  to  try  for  a 
post  then  vacant.  That  season,  Mrs.  Reiver  —  perhaps 
you  will  remember  her  —  was  in  the  height  of  her  power, 
and  many  men  lay  under  her  yoke.  Everything  bad 
that  could  be  said  has  already  been  said  about  Mrs. 
Reiver,  in  another  tale.  Moriarty  was  heavily  built  and 
handsome,  very  quiet  and  nervously  anxious  to  please 
his  neighbours  when  he  wasn't  sunk  in  a  brown  study. 
He  started  a  good  deal  at  sudden  noises  or  if  spoken  to 
without  warning ;  and,  when  you  watched  him  drink- 
ing his  glass  of  water  at  dinner,  you  could  see  the  hand 
shake  a  little.  But  all  this  was  put  down  to  nervous- 
ness, and  the  quiet,  steady  sip-sip-sip,  fill  and  sip-sip- 
sip  again  that  went  on  in  his  own  room  when  he  was 
by  himself,  was  never  known.  Which  was  miraculous, 
seeing  how  everything  in  a  man's  private  life  is  public 
property  in  India. 

Moriarty  was  drawn,  not  into  Mrs.  Reiver's  set,  be- 
cause they  were  not  his  sort,  but  into  the  power  of  Mrs. 
Reiver,  and  he  fell  down  in  front  of  her  and  made  a 
goddess  of  her.  This  was  due  to  his  coming  fresh  out 


IN  ERROR  183 

of  the  jungle  to  a  big  town.  He  could  not  scale  things 
properly  or  see  who  was  what. 

Because  Mrs.  Reiver  was  cold  and  hard,  he  said  she 
was  stately  and  dignified.  Because  she  had  no  brains, 
and  could  not  talk  cleverly,  he  said  she  was  reserved 
and  shy.  Mrs.  Reiver  shy  !  Because  she  was  unworthy 
of  honour  or  reverence  from  any  one,  he  reverenced  her 
from  a  distance  and  dowered  her  with  all  the  virtues 
in  the  Bible  and  most  of  those  in  Shakespeare. 

This  big,  dark,  abstracted  man  who  was  so  nervous 
when  a  pony  cantered  behind  him,  used  to  moon  in 
the  train  of  Mrs.  Reiver,  blushing  with  pleasure  when 
she  threw  a  word  or  two  his  way.  His  admiration 
was  strictly  platonic ;  even  other  women  saw  and  ad- 
mitted this.  He  did  not  move  out  in  Simla,  so  he 
heard  nothing  against  his  idol :  which  was  satisfactory. 
Mrs.  Reiver  took  no  special  notice  of  him,  beyond  see- 
ing that  he  was  added  to  her  list  of  admirers,  and 
going  for  a  walk  with  him  now  and  then,  just  to  show 
that  he  was  her  property,  claimable  as  such.  Moriarty 
must  have  done  most  of  the  talking,  for  Mrs.  Reiver 
couldn't  talk  much  to  a  man  of  his  stamp  ;  and  the 
little  she  said  could  not  have  been  profitable.  What 
Moriarty  believed  in,  as  he  had  good  reason  to,  was 
Mrs.  Reiver's  influence  over  him,  and,  in  that  belief, 
set  himself  seriously  to  try  to  do  away  with  the  vice 
that  only  he  himself  knew  of. 

His  experiences  while  he  was  fighting  with  it  must 
have  been  peculiar,  but  he  never  described  them. 
Sometimes  he  would  hold  off  from  everything  except 
water  for  a  week.  Then,  on  a  rainy  night,  when  no 
one  had  asked  him  out  to  dinner,  and  there  was  a  big 
fire  in  his  room,  and  everything  comfortable,  he  would 


184  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

sit  down  and  make  a  big  night  of  it  by  adding  little 
nip  to  little  nip,  planning  big  schemes  of  reformation 
meanwhile,  until  he  threw  himself  on  his  bed  hopelessly 
drunk.  He  suffered  next  morning. 

One  night  the  big  crash  came.  He  was  troubled 
in  his  own  mind  over  his  attempts  to  make  himself 
*  worthy  of  the  friendship '  of  Mrs.  Reiver.  The  past 
ten  days  had  been  very  bad  ones,  and  the  end  of  it 
all  was  that  he  received  the  arrears  of  two  and  three 
quarter  years  of  sipping  in  one  attack  of  delirium 
tremens  of  the  subdued  kind ;  beginning  with  suicidal 
depression,  going  on  to  fits  and  starts  and  hysteria, 
and  ending  with  downright  raving.  As  he  sat  in  a 
chair  in  front  of  the  fire,  or  walked  up  and  down  the 
room  picking  a  handkerchief  to  pieces,  you  heard  what 
poor  Moriarty  really  thought  of  Mrs.  Reiver,  for  he 
raved  about  her  and  his  own  fall  for  the  most  part ; 
though  he  ravelled  some  P.  W.  D.  accounts  into  the 
same  skein  of  thought.  He  talked  and  talked,  and 
talked  in  a  low  dry  whisper  to  himself,  and  there  was 
no  stopping  him.  He  seemed  to  know  that  there  was 
something  wrong,  and  twice  tried  to  pull  himself 
tog-ether  and  confer  rationally  with  the  Doctor ;  but 
his  mind  ran  out  of  control  at  once,  and  he  fell  back 
to  a  whisper  and  the  story  of  his  troubles.  It  is  ter- 
rible to  hear  a  big  man  babbling  like  a  child  of  all  that 
a  man  usually  locks  up,  and  puts  away  in  the  deep  of 
his  heart.  Moriarty  read  out  his  very  soul  for  the 
benefit  of  any  one  who  was  in  the  room  between  ten- 
thirty  that  night  and  two-forty-five  next  morning. 

From  what  he  said,  one  gathered  how  immense  an 
influence  Mrs.  Reiver  held  over  him,  and  how  thor- 
oughly he  felt  for  his  own  lapse.  His  whisperings  can- 


IN  ERROR  185 

not,  of  course,  be  put  down  here ;  but  they  were  very 
instructive  —  as  showing  the  errors  of  his  estimates. 

******* 

When  the  trouble  was  over,  and  his  few  acquaint- 
ances were  pitying  him  for  the  bad  attack  of  jungle- 
fever  that  had  so  pulled  him  down,  Moriarty  swore  a 
big  oath  to  himself  and  went  abroad  again  with  Mrs. 
Reiver  till  the  end  of  the  season,  adoring  her  in  a  quiet 
and  deferential  way  as  an  angel  from  heaven.  Later 
on,  he  took  to  riding  —  not  hacking,  but  honest  riding 
—  which  was  good  proof  that  he  was  improving,  and 
you  could  slam  doors  behind  him  without  his  jumping 
to  his  feet  with  a  gasp.  That,  again,  was  hopef ul. 

How  he  kept  his  oath,  and  what  it  cost  him  in  the 
beginning,  nobody  knows.  He  certainly  managed  to 
compass  the  hardest  thing  that  a  man  who  has  drunk 
heavily  can  do.  He  took  his  peg  and  wine  at  dinner  ; 
but  he  never  drank  alone,  and  never  let  what  he  drank 
have  the  least  hold  on  him. 

Once  he  told  a  bosom-friend  the  story  of  his  great 
trouble,  and  how  the  '  influence  of  a  pure  honest 
woman,  and  an  angel  as  well,'  had  saved  him.  When 
the  man — startled  at  anything  good  being  laid  to 
Mrs.  Reiver's  door  —  laughed,  it  cost  him  Moriarty' s 
friendship.  Moriarty,  who  is  married  now  to  a  woman 
ten  thousand  times  better  than  Mrs.  Reiver,  —  a  woman 
who  believes  that  there  is  no  man  on  earth  as  irood 

o 

and  clever  us  her  husband,  —  will  go  down  to  his 
grave  vowing  and  protesting  that  Mrs.  Reiver  saved 
him  from  ruin  in  both  worlds. 

That  she  knew  anything  of  Moriarty's  weakness 
nobody  believed  for  a  moment.  That  she  would  have 
cut  him  dead,  thrown  him  over,  and  acquainted  all 


186  PLAIN   TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

her  friends  with  her  discovery,  if  she  had  known  of 
it,  nobody  who  knew  her  doubted  for  an  instant. 

Moriarty  thought  her  something  she  never  was, 
and  in  that  belief  saved  himself.  Which  was  just  as 
good  as  though  she  had  been  everything  that  he  had 
imagined. 

But  the  question  is,  What  claim  will  Mrs.  Reiver 
have  to  the  credit  of  Moriarty's  salvation,  when  her 
day  of  reckoning  comes? 


A  BANK  FRAUD 

He  drank  strong  waters  and  his  speech  was  coarsR ; 

He  purchased  raiment  and  forbore  to  pay ; 
He  stuck  a  trusting  junior  with  a  horse, 

And  won  Gymkhanas  in  a  doubtful  way. 
Then,  'twixt  a  vice  and  folly,  turned  aside 
To  do  good  deeds  and  straight  to  cloak  them,  lied. 

—  The  Mess  Room. 

IF  Reggie  Burke  were  in  India  now,  he  would  resent 
this  tale  being  told  ;  but  as  he  is  in  Hongkong  and 
won't  see  it,  the  telling  is  safe.  He  was  the  man  who 
worked  the  big  fraud  on  the  Sind  and  Sialkote  Bank. 
He  was  manager  of  an  up-country  Branch,  and  a  sound 
practical  man  with  a  large  experience  of  native  loan 
and  insurance  work.  He  could  combine  the  frivolities 
of  ordinary  life  with  his  work,  and  yet  do  well. 
Reggie  Burke  rode  anything  that  would  let  him  get  up, 
danced  as  neatly  as  he  rode,  and  was  wanted  for  every 
sort  of  amusement  in  the  Station. 

As  he  said  himself,  and  as  many  men  found  out 
rather  to  their  surprise,  there  were  two  Burkes,  both 
very  much  at  your  service.  '  Reggie  Burke,'  between 
four  and  ten,  ready  for  anything  from  a  hot-weather 
gymkhana  to  a  riding-picnic,  and,  between  ten  and  four, 
'Mr.  Reginald  Burke,  Manager  of  the  Sind  and  Sialkote 
Branch  Bank.'  You  might  play  polo  with  him  ono 

187 


188  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

afternoon  and  hear  him  express  his  opinions  when  a 
man  crossed  ;  and  you  might  call  on  him  next  morning 
to  raise  a  two-thousand-rupec  loan  on  a  five-hundred- 
pound  insurance  policy,  eighty  pounds  paid  in  premiums. 
He  would  recognise  you,  but  you  would  have  some 
trouble  in  recognising  him. 

The  Directors  of  the  Bank  —  it  had  its  headquarters 
in  Calcutta  and  its  General  Manager's  word  carried 
weight  with  the  Government  —  picked  their  men  well. 
They  had  tested  Reggie  up  to  a  fairly  severe  breaking- 
strain.  They  trusted  him  just  as  much  as  Directors 
ever  trust  Managers.  You  must  see  for  yourself 
whether  their  trust  was  misplaced. 

Reggie's  Branch  was  in  a  big  Station,  and  worked 
with  the  usual  staff  —  one  Manager,  one  Accountant, 
both  English,  a  Cashier,  and  a  horde  of  native  clerks ; 
besides  the  Police  patrol  at  nights  outside.  The  bulk 
of  its  work,  for  it  was  in  a  thriving  district,  was  hoondi 
and  accommodation  of  all  kinds.  A  fool  has  no  grip 
of  this  sort  of  business ,  and  a  clever  man  who  does 
not  go  about  among  his  clients,  and  know  more  than  a 
little  of  their  affairs,  is  worse  than  a  fool.  Reggie  was 
young-looking,  clean-shaved,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye, 
and  a  head  that  nothing  short  of  a  gallon  of  the 
Gunners'  Madeira  could  make  any  impression  on. 

One  day,  at  a  big  dinner,  he  announced  casually  that 
the  Directors  had  shifted  on  to  him  a  Natural  Curiosity, 
from  England,  in  the  Accountant  line.  He  was  perfectly 
correct.  Mr.  Silas  Riley,  Accountant,  was  a  most 
curious  animal  —  a  long,  gawky,  rawboned  Yorkshire- 
man,  full  of  the  savage  self-conceit  that  blossoms  only 
in  the  best  county  in  England.  Arrogance  was  a  mild 
word  for  the  mental  attitude  of  Mr.  S.  Riley.  He  had 


A  BANK  FRAUD  189 

worked  himself  up,  after  seven  years,  to  a  Cashier's 
position  in  a  Huddersfield  Bank  ;  and  all  his  experience 
lay  among  the  factories  of  the  North.  Perhaps  he 
would  have  done  better  on  the  Bombay  side,  where 
they  are  happy  with  one-half  per  cent  profits,  and 
money  is  cheap.  He  was  useless  for  Upper  India  and 
a  wheat  Province,  where  a  man  wants  a  large  head 
and  a  touch  of  imagination  if  he  is  to  turn  out  a  satis- 
factory balance-sheet. 

He  was  wonderfully  narrow-minded  in  business,  and, 
being  new  to  the  country,  had  no  notion  that  Indian 
banking  is  totally  distinct  from  Home  work.  Like 
most  clever  self-made  men,  he  had  much  simplicity  in 
his  nature ;  and,  somehow  or  other,  had  construed  the 
ordinarily  polite  terms  of  his  letter  of  engagement  into 
a  belief  that  the  Directors  had  chosen  him  on  account 
of  his  special  and  brilliant  talents,  and  that  they  set 
great  store  by  him.  This  notion  grew  and  crj^stallised  ; 
thus  adding  to  his  natural  North-country  conceit. 
Further,  he  was  delicate,  suffered  from  some  trouble  in 
Ids  chest,  and  was  short  in  his  temper. 

You  will  admit  that  Reggie  had  reason  to  call  his 
new  Accountant  a  Natural  Curiosity.  The  two  men 
failed  to  hit  it  off  at  all.  Riley  considered  Reggie  a 
wild,  feather-headed  idiot,  given  to  Heaven  only  knew 
what  dissipation  in  low  places  called  '  Messes,'  and 
totally  unfit  for  the  serious  and  solemn  vocation  of 
banking.  lie  could  never  get  over  Reggie's  look  of 
youth  and  '  you-be-damned '  air  ;  and  he  couldn't 
understand  Reggie's  friends  —  clean-built,  careless  men 
in  the  Army  —  who  rode  over  to  big  Sunday  breakfasts 
at  the  Bank,  and  told  sultry  stories  till  Riley  got  up 
und  left  the  room.  Riley  was  always  showing  Reggie 


190  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

how  the  business  ought  to  be  conducted,  and  Reggie 
had  more  than  once  to  remind  him  that  seven  years' 
limited  experience  between  Huddersfield  and  Beverley 
did  not  qualify  a  man  to  steer  a  big  up-country  business. 
Then  Riley  sulked,  and  referred  to  himself  as  a  pillar 
of  the  Bank  and  a  cherished  friend  of  the  Directors,  and 
Reggie  tore  his  hair.  If  a  man's  English  subordinates 
fail  him  in  India,  he  comes  to  a  hard  time  indeed,  for 
native  help  has  strict  limitations.  In  the  winter  Riley 
went  sick  for  weeks  at  a  time  with  his  lung  complaint, 
and  this  threw  more  work  on  Reggie.  But  he  preferred 
it  to  the  everlasting  friction  when  Riley  was  well. 

One  of  the  Travelling  Inspectors  of  the  Bank  dis- 
covered these  collapses  and  reported  them  to  the 
Directors.  Now  Riley  had  been  foisted  on  the  Bank 
by  an  M.P.,  who  wanted  the  support  of  Riley 's  father, 
who,  again,  was  anxious  to  get  his  son  out  to  a  warmer 
climate  because  of  those  lungs.  The  M.P.  had  interest 
in  the  Bank ;  but  one  of  the  Directors  wanted  to 
advance  a  nominee  of  his  own ;  and,  after  Riley's 
father  had  died,  he  made  the  rest  of  the  Board  see  that 
an  Accountant  who  was  sick  for  half  the  year  had  bet- 
ter give  place  to  a  healthy  man.  If  Riley  had  known 
the  real  story  of  his  appointment,  he  might  have 
behaved  better  ;  but,  knowing  nothing,  his  stretches 
of  sickness  alternated  with  restless,  persistent,  med- 
dling irritation  of  Reggie,  and  all  the  hundred  ways 
in  which  conceit  in  a  subordinate  situation  can  find 
play.  Reggie  used  to  call  him  striking  and  hair-curling 
names  behind  his  back  as  a  relief  to  his  own  feelings ; 
but  he  never  abused  him  to  his  face,  because  he  said, 
'  Riley  is  such  a  frail  beast  that  half  of  his  loathsome 
conceit  is  due  to  pains  in  the  chest.' 


A  BANK  FRAUD 

Late  one  April,  Riley  went  very  sick  indeed.  Tlie 
Doctor  punched  and  thumped  him,  and  told  him  he 
would  be  better  before  long.  Then  the  Doctor  went  to 
Reggie  and  said  — '  Do  you  know  how  sick  your  Ac- 
countant is  ? '  — '  No  ! '  said  Reggie  —  k  The  worse  the 
better,  confound  him !  He's  a  nuisance  when  he's 
well.  I'll  let  you  take  away  the  Bank  Safe  if  you 
can  keep  him  quiet  through  this  hot  weather. ? 

But  the  Doctor  did  not  laugh  — '  Man,  I'm  not 
joking,'  he  said.  '  I'll  give  him  another  three  months 
in  his  bed  and  a  week  or  so  more  to  die  in.  On  my 
honour  and  reputation  that's  all  the  grace  he  has  in 
this  world.  Consumption  has  hold  of  him  to  the 
marrow.' 

Reggie's  face  changed  at  once  into  the  face  of  '  Mr. 
Reginald  Burke,'  and  he  answered,  '  What  can  I  do  ? ' 
~— '  Nothing,'  said  the  Doctor.  '  For  all  practical  pur- 
poses the  man  is  dead  already.  Keep  him  quiet  and 
cheerful,  and  tell  him  he's  going  to  recover.  That's 
all.  I'll  look  after  him  to  the  end,  of  course.' 

The  Doctor  went  away,  and  Reggie  sat  down  to 
open  the  evening  mail.  His  first  letter  was  one  from 
the  Directors,  intimating  for  his  information  that  Mr. 
Riley  was  to  resign,  under  a  month's  notice,  by  the 
terms  of  his  agreement,  telling  Reggie  that  their  letter 
to  Riley  would  follow,  and  advising  Reggie  of  the 
coining  of  a  new  Accountant,  a  man  whom  Reggie 
knew  and  liked. 

Reggie  lit  a  cheroot,  and,  before  he  had  finished 
smoking,  he  had  sketched  the  outline  of  a  fraud.  He 
put  away  —  burked  —  the  Directors'  letter,  and  went 
in  to  talk  to  Riley,  who  was  as  ungracious  as  usual, 
and  fretting  himself  over  the  way  the  Bank  would  run 


192  PLAIJS   TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

during  his  illness.  He  never  thought  of  the  extra 
work  on  Reggie's  shoulders,  but  solely  of  the  damage 
to  his  own  prospects  of  advancement.  Then  Reggie 
assured  him  that  everything  would  be  well,  and  that 
he,  Reggie,  would  confer  with  Riley  daily  on  the 
management  of  the  Bank.  Riley  was  a  little  soothed, 
but  he  hinted  in  as  many  words  that  he  did  not  think 
much  of  Reggie's  business  capacity.  Reggie  was 
humble.  And  he  had  letters  in  his  desk  from  the 
Directors  that  a  Gilbarte  or  a  Hardie  might  have  been 
proud  of ! 

The  clays  passed  in  the  big  darkened  house,  and  the 
Directors'  letter  of  dismissal  to  Riley  came  and  was 
put  away  by  Reggie,  who,  every  evening,  brought  the 
books  to  Riley 's  room,  and  showed  him  what  had  been 
going  forward,  while  Riley  snarled.  Reggie  did  his 
best  to  make  statements  pleasing  to  Riley,  but  the 
Accountant  was  sure  that  the  Bank  was  going  to  rack 
and  ruin  without  him.  In  June,  as  the  lying  in  bed 
told  on  his  spirit,  he  asked  whether  his  absence  had  been 
noted  by  the  Directors,  and  Reggie  said  that  they  had 
written  most  sympathetic  letters,  hoping  that  he  would 
be  able  to  resume  his  valuable  services  before  long. 
He  showed  Riley  the  letters ;  and  Riley  said  that  the 
Directors  ought  to  have  written  to  him  direct.  A  few 
days  later,  Reggie  opened  Riley's  mail  in  the  half-light 
of  the  room,  and  gave  him  the  sheet  —  not  the  envelope 
—  of  a  letter  to  Riley  from  the  Directors.  Riley  said 
he  would  thank  Reggie  not  to  interfere  with  his  private 
papers,  specially  as  Reggie  knew  he  was  too  weak  to 
open  his  own  letters.  Reggie  apologised. 

Then  Riley's  mood  changed,  and  he  lectured  Reggie 
on  his  evil  ways  :  his  horses  and  his  bad  friends.  '  Of 


A  BANK  FRAUD  193 

course  lying  here,  on  my  back,  Mr.  Burke,  I  can't  keep 
you  straight ;  but  when  I'm  well,  I  do  hope  you'll  pay 
some  heed  to  my  words.'  Reggie,  who  had  dropped 
polo,  and  dinners,  and'  tennis  and  all,  to  attend  to 
Riley,  said  that  he  was  penitent  and  settled  Riley's 
head  on  the  pillow  and  heard  him  fret  and  contradict 
in  hard,  dry,  hacking  whispers,  without  a  sign  of  im- 
patience. This,  at  the  end  of  a  heavy  day's  office 
work,  doing  double  duty,  in  the  latter  half  of  June. 

When  the  new  Accountant  came,  Reggie  told  him 
the  facts  of  the  case,  and  announced  to  Riley  that  he 
had  a  guest  staying  with  him.  Riley  said  that  he 
might  have  had  more  consideration  than  to  entertain 
his  'doubtful  friends'  at  such  a  time.  Reggie  made 
Carron,  the  new  Accountant,  sleep  at  the  Club  in  conse- 
quence. Carron's  arrival  took  some  of  the  heavy  work 
off  his  shoulders,  and  he  had  time  to  attend  to  Riley's 
exactions  —  to  explain,  soothe,  invent,  and  settle  and 
re-settle  the  poor  wretch  in  bed,  and  to  forge  compli- 
mentary letters  from  Calcutta.  At  the  end  of  the  first 
month  Riley  wished  to  send  some  money  home  to  his 
mother.  Reggie  sent  the  draft.  At  the  end  of  the 
second  month  Riley's  salary  came  in  just  the  same. 
Reggie  paid  it  out  of  his  own  pocket,  and,  with  it, 
wrote  Riley  a  beautiful  letter  from  the  Directors. 

Riley  w;is  very  ill  indeed,  but  the  Hume  of  his  life 
burnt  unsteadily.  No\v  and  then  he  would  lie  cheer- 
ful and  confident  about  the  future,  sketching  plans  for 
going  Homo  and  seeing  his  mother.  Reggie  listened 
patiently  when  the  office-work  was  over,  and  encour- 
aged him. 

At  other  times  Riley  insisted  on  Reggie  reading  the 
Bible  and  grim  kMethody*  tracts  to  him.  Out  of  these 


194  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

tracts  he  pointed  morals  directed  at  liis  Manager.  But 
he  always  found  time  to  worry  Reggie  about  the  work- 
Ing  of  the  Bank,  and  to  show  him  where  the  weak 
points  lay. 

This  indoor,  sickroom  life  and  constant  strains 
wore  Reggie  down  a  good  deal,  and  shook  his  nerves, 
and  lowered  his  billiard  play  by  forty  points.  But  the 
business  of  the  Bank,  and  the  business  of  the  sickroom, 
had  to  go  on,  though  the  glass  was  116°  in  the  shade. 

At  the  end  of  the  third  month  Riley  was  sinking 
fast,  and  had  begun  to  realise  that  he  was  very  sick. 
But  the  conceit  that  made  him  worry  Reggie  kept  him 
from  believing  the  worst.  '  He  wants  some  sort  of 
mental  stimulant  if  he  is  to  drag  on,'  said  the  Doctor. 
'  Keep  him  interested  in  life  if  you  care  about  his 
living.'  So  Riley,  contrary  to  ail  the  laws  of  business 
and  the  finance,  received  a  25-per-cent  rise  of  salary  from 
the  Directors.  The  'mental  stimulant'  succeeded  beau- 
tifully. Riley  was  happy  and  cheerful,  and,  as  is  often 
the  case  in  consumption,  healthiest  in  mind  when  the 
body  was  weakest.  He  lingered  for  a  full  month, 
snarling  and  fretting  about  the  Bank,  talking  of  the 
future,  hearing  the  Bible  read,  lecturing  Reggie  on  sin, 
and  wondering  when  he  would  be  able  to  move  abroad. 

But  at  the  end  of  September,  one  mercilessly  hot 
evening,  he  rose  up  in  his  bed  with  a  little  gasp,  and 
said  quickly  to  Reggie  — '  Mr.  Burke,  I  am  going  to 
die.  I  know  it  in  myself.  My  chest  is  all  hollow  inside, 
and  there's  nothing  to  breathe  with.  To  the  best  of  my 
knowledge  I  have  done  nowt '  —  he  was  returning  to  the 
talk  of  his  boyhood  —  '  to  lie  heavy  on  my  conscience. 
God  be  thanked,  I  have  been  preserved  from  the  grosser 
forms  of  sin  ;  and  I  counsel  you,  Mr.  Burke  .  .  .  ' 


A  BANK  FRAUD  195 

Here  his  voice  died  down,  and  Reggie  stooped  over 
him. 

'  Send  my  salary  for  September  to  rny  Mother  .  .  . 
done  great  things  with  the  Bank  if  I  had  been  spared 
.  .  .  mistaken  policy  ...  no  fault  of  mine.  .  .  .' 

Then  he  turned  his  face  to  the  wall  and  died. 

Reggie  drew  the  sheet  over  Its  face,  and  went  out 
into  the  verandah,  with  his  last  '  mental  stimulant '  —  a 
letter  of  condolence  and  sympathy  from  the  Directors  — 
unused  in  his  pocket. 

'  If  I'd  been  only  ten  minutes  earlier,'  thought 
Reggie,  '  I  might  have  heartened  him  up  to  pull 
through  another  day.' 


TODS'   AMENDMENT 

The  World  hath  set  its  heavy  yoke 
Upon  the  old  white-bearded  folk 

Who  strive  to  please  the  King. 
God's  m«rcy  is  upon  the  young, 
God's  wisdom  in  the  baby  tongue 

That  fears  not  anything. 

—  The  Parable  of  Chajju  Bhagat. 

Now  Tods'  Mamma  was  a  singularly  charming  woman, 
and  every  one  in  Simla  knew  Tods.  Most  men  had 
saved  him  from  death  on  occasions.  He  was  beyond 
his  ayah's  control  altogether,  and  perilled  his  life  daily 
to  find  out  what  would  happen  if  you  pulled  a  Mountain 
Battery  mule's  tail.  He  was  an  utterly  fearless  young 
Pagan,  about  six  years  old,  and  the  only  baby  who 
ever  broke  the  holy  calm  of  the  Supreme  Legislative 
Council. 

Thus  it  happened :  Tods'  pet  kid  got  loose,  and 
fled  up  the  hill,  off  the  Boileaugunge  Road,  Tods  after 
it,  until  it  burst  into  the  Viceregal  Lodge  lawn,  then 
attached  to  'Peterhoff.'  The  Council  were  sitting  at 
the  time,  and  the  windows  were  open  because  it  was 
warm.  The  Red  Lancer  in  the  porch  told  Tods  to  go 
away ;  but  Tods  knew  the  Red  Lancer  and  most  of  the 
Members  of  the  Council  personally.  Moreover,  he  had 
firm  hold  of  the  kid's  collar,  and  was  being  dragged  all 

196 


TODS'   AMENDMENT  197 

across  the  flower-beds.  '  Give  my  salaam  to  the  long 
Councillor  Sahib,  and  ask  him  to  help  me  take  Moti 
back  ! '  gasped  Tods.  The  Council  heard  the  noise 
through  the  open  windows  ;  and,  after  an  interval,  was 
seen  the  shocking  spectacle  of  a  Legal  Member  and  a 
Lieutenant-Governor  helping,  under  the  direct  patron- 
age of  a  Commander-in-Chief  and  a  Viceroy,  one  small 
and  very  dirty  boy  in  a  sailor's  suit  and  a  tangle  of 
brown  hair,  to  coerce  a  lively  and  rebellious  kid.  They 
headed  it  off  down  the  path  to  the  Mall,  and  Tods  went 
home  in  triumph  and  told  his  Mamma  that  all  the 
Councillor  Sahibs  had  been  helping  him  to  catch  Moti. 
Whereat  his  Mamma  smacked  Tods  for  interfering  with 
the  administration  of  the  Empire  ;  but  Tods  met  the 
Legal  Member  the  next  day,  and  told  him  in  confidence 
that  if  the  Legal  Member  ever  wanted  to  catch  a  goat, 
he,  Tods,  would  give  him  all  the  help  in  his  power. 
'  Thank  you,  Tods,'  said  the  Legal  Member. 

Tods  was  the  idol  of  some  eighty  jhampanis,  and  half 
as  many  saises.  He  saluted  them  all  as  '  O  Brother.' 
It  never  entered  his  head  that  any  living  human  being 
could  disobey  his  orders  ;  and  he  was  the  buffer  between 
the  servants  and  his  Mamma's  wrath.  The  working 
of  that  household  turned  on  Tods,  who  was  adored  by 
every  one  from  the  dholy  to  the  dog-boy.  Even  Futteh 
Khan,  the  villainous  loafer  khit  from  Mussoorie,  shirked 
risking  Tod's  displeasure  for  fear  his  co-mates  should 
look  down  on  him. 

So  Tods  had  honour  in  the  land  from  Boileaugunge 
to  Chota  Simla,  and  ruled  justly  according  to  his  lights. 
Of  course,  lie  spoke  Urdu,  but  he  had  also  mastered 
many  queer  side-speeches  like  the  elwtec  bolee  of  the 
women,  and  held  grave  converse  with  shopkeepers  and 


198  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

Hill-coolies  alike.  He  was  precocious  for  his  age,  and 
his  mixing  with  natives  had  taught  him  some  of  the 
more  bitter  truths  of  life  :  the  meanness  and  the  sordid- 
ness  of  it.  He  used,  over  his  bread  and  milk,  to  deliver 
solemn  and  serious  aphorisms,  translated  from  the  ver- 
nacular into  the  English,  that  made  his  Mamma  jump 
and  vow  that  Tods  must  go  Home  next  hot  weather. 

Just  when  Tods  was  in  the  bloom  of  his  power,  the 
Supreme  Legislature  were  hacking  out  a  Bill  for  the 
Sub-Montane  Tracts,  a  revision  of  the  then  Act,  smaller 
than  the  Punjab  Land  Bill  but  affecting  a  few  hundred 
thousand  people  none  the  less.  The  Legal  Member  had 
built,  and  bolstered,  and  embroidered,  and  amended 
that  Bill,  till  it  looked  beautiful  on  paper.  Then  the 
Council  began  to  settle  what  they  called  the  'minor 
details.'  As  if  any  Englishman  legislating  for  natives 
knows  enough  to  know  which  are  the  minor  and  which 
are  the  major  points,  from  the  native  point  of  view,  of 
any  measure !  That  Bill  was  a  triumph  of  '  safe- 
guarding the  interests  of  the  tenant.'  One  clause 
provided  that  land  should  not  be  leased  on  longer 
terms  than  five  years  at  a  stretch ;  because,  if  the 
landlord  had  a  tenant  bound  down  for,  say,  twenty 
years,  he  would  squeeze  the  very  life  out  of  him.  The 
notion  was  to  keep  up  a  stream  of  independent  culti- 
vators in  the  Sub-Montane  Tracts  ;  and  ethnologically 
and  politically  the  notion  was  correct.  The  only  draw- 
back was  that  it  was  altogether  wrong.  A  native's 
life  in  India  implies  the  life  of  his  son-  Wherefore, 
you  cannot  legislate  for  one  generation  at  a  time.  You 
must  consider  the  next  from  the  native  point  of  view. 
Curiously  enough,  the  native  now  and  then,  and  in 
Northern  India  more  particularly,  hates  being  over- 


TODS'   AMENDMENT  199 

protected  against  himself.  There  was  a  Naga  village 
once,  where  they  lived  on  dead  and  buried  Com- 
missariat mules.  .  .  .  But  that  is  another  story. 

For  many  reasons,  to  be  explained  later,  the  people 
concerned  objected  to  the  Bill.  The  Native  Member 
in  Council  knew  as  much  about  Punjabis  as  he  knew 
about  Charing  Cross.  He  had  said  in  Calcutta  that 
'the  Bill  was  entirely  in  accord  with  the  desires  of 
that  large  and  important  class,  the  cultivators ' ;  and 
so  on,  and  so  on.  The  Legal  Member's  knowledge  of 
natives  was  limited  to  English-speaking  Durbaris,  and 
his  own  red  chaprassis,  the  Sub-Montane  Tracts  con- 
cerned no  one  in  particular,  the  Deputy  Commissioners 
were  a  good  deal  too  driven  to  make  representations, 
and  the  measure  was  one  which  dealt  with  small  land- 
holders only.  Nevertheless,  the  Legal  Member  prayed 
that  it  might  be  correct,  for  he  was  a  nervously  con- 
scientious man.  He  did  not  know  that  no  man  can 
tell  what  natives  think  unless  he  mixes  with  them 
with  the  varnish  off.  And  not  always  then.  But  he 
did  the  best  he  knew.  And  the  measure  came  up  to 
the  Supreme  Council  for  the  final  touches,  while  Tods 
patrolled  the  Burra  Simla  Bazar  in  his  morning  rides, 
and  played  with  the  monkey  belonging  to  Ditta  Mull, 
the  buitnia,  and  listened,  as  a  child  listens,  to  all  the 
stray  talk  about  this  new  freak  of  the  Lord  SaMb's. 

One  day  there  was  a  dinner-party,  at  the  house  of 
Tods'  Mamma,  and  the  Legal  Member  came.  Tods 
was  in  bed,  but  he  kept  awake  till  he  heard  the  bursts 
of  laughter  from  the  men  over  the  coffee.  Then  he 
paddled  out  in  his  little  red  flannel  dressing-gown  and 
his  night-suit  and  took  refuge  by  the  side  of  his  father, 
knowing  that  he  would  not  be  sent  back.  'See  the 


200  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

miseries  of  having  a  family  ! '  said  Tods'  father,  giving 
Tods  three  prunes,  some  water  in  a  glass  that  had  been 
used  for  claret,  and  telling  him  to  sit  still.  Tods  sucked 
the  prunes  slowly,  knowing  that  he  would  have  to  go 
when  they  were  finished,  and  sipped  the  pink  water 
like  a  man  of  the  world,  as  he  listened  to  the  conversa- 
tion. Presently,  the  Legal  Member,  talking  '  shop  '  to 
the  Head  of  a  Department,  mentioned  his  Bill  by  its 
full  name  — '  The  Sub-Montane  Tracts  Ryotwary  Re- 
vised Enactment.'  Tods  caught  the  one  native  word 
and  lifting  up  his  small  voice  said  — 

'  Oh,  I  know  all  about  that  !  Has  it  been  murra- 
mutted  yet,  Councillor  Sahib  ? ' 

'  How  much  ?  '  said  the  Legal  Member. 

4  Murramutted  —  mended. — Put  theek,  you  know  — 
made  nice  to  please  Ditta  Mull  !  ' 

The  Legal  Member  left  his  place  and  moved  up 
next  to  Tods. 

'  What  do  you  know  about  ryotwari,  little  man  ? ' 
he  said. 

'  I'm  not  a  little  man,  I'm  Tods,  and  I  know  all 
about  it.  Ditta  Mull,  and  Choga  Lall,  and  Amir  Nath, 
and  —  oh,  lakhs  of  my  friends  tell  me  about  it  in  the 
bazars  when  I  talk  to  them.' 

'  Oh,  they  do  —  do  they  ?     What  do  they  say,  Tods  ?  ' 

Tods  tucked  his  feet  under  his  red  flannel  dressing- 
gown  and  said  —  '  I  must  fink.' 

The  Legal  Member  waited  patiently.  Then  Tods 
with  infinite  compassion  — 

1  You  don't  speak  my  talk,  do  you,  Councillor 
Sahib  r 

'  No  ;  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  do  not,'  said  the  Legal 
Member. 


TODS1  AMENDMENT  20X 

'Very  well,'  said  Tods,  '  I  must  fink  in  English.' 
He  spent  a  minute  putting  his  ideas  in  order,  and 
began  very  slowly,  translating  in  his  mind  from  the 
vernacular  to  English,  as  many  Anglo-Indian  children 
do.  You  must  remember  that  the  Legal  Member 
helped  him  on  by  questions  when  he  halted,  for  Tods 
was  not  equal  to  the  sustained  flight  of  oratory  that 
follows. 

'  Ditta  Mull  says,  "  This  thing  is  the  talk  of  a 
child,  and  was  made  up  by  fools."  But  I  don't  think 
you  are  a  fool,  Councillor  Sahib?  said  Tods,  hastily. 
4  You  caught  my  goat.  This  is  what  Ditta  Mull  says 
— "  I  am  not  a  fool,  and  why  should  the  Sirkar  say  I 
am  a  child  ?  I  can  see  if  the  land  is  good  and  if  the 
landlord  is  good.  If  I  am  a  fool  the  sin  is  upon  my 
own  head.  For  five  years  I  take  my  ground  for  which 
I  have  saved  money,  and  a  wife  I  take  too,  and  a  little 
son  is  born."  Ditta  Mull  has  one  daughter  now,  but 
he  says  he  will  have  a  son,  soon.  And  he  says, 
"  At  the  end  of  five  years,  by  this  new  bundobust,  I 
must  go.  If  I  do  not  go,  I  must  get  fresh  seals  and 
takkus-st&mips  on  the  papers,  perhaps  in  the  middle 
of  the  harvest,  and  to  go  to  the  law-courts  once  is 
wisdom,  but  to  go  twice  is  Jehannum"  That  is  quite 
true,'  explained  Tods,  gravely.  *  All  my  friends  say 
so,  And  Ditta  Mull  says,  ''Always  fresh  takkus 
and  paying  money  to  vakils  and  chaprassis  and  law- 
courts  every  live  years,  or  else  the  landlord  makes  me 
go.  Why  do  I  want  to  go?  Am  I  a  fool  ?  If  I  am 
a  fool  and  do  not  know,  after  forty  years,  good  land 
when  I  see  it,  let  me  die  !  But  if  the  new  bundobust 
says  for  fifteen  years,  that  it  is  good  and  wise.  My 
little  son  is  a  man,  and  I  am  burnt,  and  he  takes  the 


202  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

ground  or  another  ground,  paying  only  once  for  the 
takkus-st&mps  on  the  papers,  and  his  little  son  is  born, 
and  at  the  end  of  fifteen  years  is  a  man  too.  But  what 
profit  is  there  in  five  years  and  fresh  papers  !  Nothing 
but  dikh,  trouble,  dikh.  We  are  not  young  men  who 
take  these  lands,  but  old  ones  —  not  farmers,  but  trades- 
men with  a  little  money  —  and  for  fifteen  years  we  shall 
have  peace.  Nor  are  we  children  that  the  Sirkar 
should  treat  us  so." 

Here  Tods  stopped  short,  for  the  whole  table  were 
listening.  The  Legal  Member  said  to  Tods,  '  Is  that 
all?' 

'  All  I  can  remember,'  said  Tods.  '  But  you  should 
see  Ditta  Mull's  big  monkey.  It's  just  like  a  Coun- 
cillor Sahib.'1 

'  Tods  !  Go  to  bed,'  said  his  father. 

Tods  gathered  up  his  dressing-gown  tail  and  de- 
parted. 

The  Legal  Member  brought  his  hand  down  on  the 
table  with  a  crash  — '  By  Jove  ! '  said  the  Legal  Member, 
'I  believe  the  boy  is  right.  The  short  tenure  is  the 
weak  point.' 

He  left  early,  thinking  over  what  Tods  had  said. 
Now,  it  was  obviously  impossible  for  the  Legal  Member 
to  play  with  a  bunnia's  monkey,  by  way  of  getting 
understanding  ;  but  he  did  better.  He  made  inquiries, 
always  bearing  in  rnind  the  fact  that  the  real  native  — 
not  the  hybrid,  University-trained  mule  —  is  as  timid  as 
a  colt,  and,  little  by  little,  he  coaxed  some  of  the  men 
whom  the  measure  concerned  most  intimately  to  give 
in  their  views,  which  squared  very  closely  with  Tods' 
evidence. 

So  the  Bill  was  amended  in  that  clause  :    and  the 


TODS'   AMENDMENT  203 

Legal  Member  was  filled  with  an  uneasy  suspicion  that 
Native  Members  represent  very  little  except  the  Orders 
they  carry  on  their  bosoms.  But  he  put  the  thought 
from  him  as  illiberal.  He  was  a  most  Liberal  man. 

After  a  time,  the  news  spread  through  the  bazars 
that  Tods  had  got  the  Bill  recast  in  the  tenure-clause, 
and  if  Tods'  Mamma  had  not  interfered,  Tods  would 
have  made  himself  sick  on  the  baskets  ot  fruit  and 
pistachio  nuts  and  Cabuli  grapes  and  almonds  that 
crowded  the  verandah.  Till  he  went  Home,  Tods 
ranked  some  few  degrees  before  the  Viceroy  in  popu- 
lar estimation.  But  for  the  little  life  of  him  Tods 
could  not  understand  why. 

In  the  Legal  Member's  private-paper-box  still  lies 
the  rough  draft  of  the  Sub-Montane  Tracts  Ryotwary 
Revised  Enactment ;  and,  opposite  the  twenty-second 
clause,  pencilled  in  blue  chalk,  and  signed  by  the 
Legal  Member,  are  the  words  '  Tods'  Amendment.' 


THE   DAUGHTER   OF   THE  REGIMENT 

Jain  'Ardin'  was  a  Sarjint's  wife, 

A  Sarjint's  wife  wus  she. 
She  married  of  'im  in  Orldershort 

An'  corned  acrost  the  sea. 

(CAorus)  'Ave  you  never  'eard  tell  o'  Jain  'Ardin'  ? 

Jain  'Ardin'  ? 
Jain  'Ardin'  ? 

'Ave  you  never  'eard  tell  o'  Jain  'Ardin'  ? 
The  pride  o'  the  Companee  ? 

—  Old  Bamaclc-Eoom  Ballad. 

'  A  GENTLEMAN  who  doesn't  know  the  Circasiaii  Circle 
ought  not  to  stand  up  for  it  —  puttin'  everybody  out.' 
That  was  what  Miss  McKenna  said,  and  the  Sergeant 
who  was  my  vis-d-vis  looked  the  same  thing.  I  was 
afraid  of  Miss  McKenna.  She  was  six  feet  high,  all 
yellow  freckles  and  red  hair,  and  was  simply  clad  in 
white  satin  shoes,  a  pink  muslin  dress,  an  apple-green 
stuff  sash,  and  black  silk  gloves,  with  yellow  roses  in 
her  hair.  Wherefore  I  fled  from  Miss  McKenna  and 
sought  my  friend  Private  Mulvaney,  who  was  at  the 
cant  —  refreshment-table. 

'  So  you've  been  dancin'  with  little  Jhansi  McKenna, 
Sorr  —  she  that's  goin'  to  marry  Corp'ril  Slane  ?  Whin 
you  next  conversh  wid  your  lorruds  an'  your  ladies, 
tell  thim  you've  danced  wid  little  Jhansi.  'Tis  a  thing 
to  be  proud  av.' 

204 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REGIMENT  205 

But  I  wasn't  proud.  I  was  humble.  I  saw  a  story 
in  Private  Mulvaney's  eye ;  and  besides,  if  he  stayed 
too  long  at  the  bar,  he  would,  I  knew,  qualify  for  more 
pack-drill.  Now  to  meet  an  esteemed  friend  doing 
pack-drill  outside  the  guard-room  is  embarrassing, 
especially  if  you  happen  to  be  walking  with  his  Com- 
manding Officer. 

'  Come  on  to  the  parade-ground,  Mulvaney,  it's 
cooler  there,  and  tell  me  about  Miss  McKenna.  What 
is  she,  and  who  is  she,  and  why  is  she  called  "  Jhansi  "  ? ' 

'  D'ye  mane  to  say  you've  niver  heard  av  Ould  Pum- 
meloe's  daughter  ?  An'  you  thinkin'  you  know  things  ! 
I'm  wid  ye  in  a  minut'  whin  me  poipe's  lit.' 

We  came  out  under  the  stars.  Mulvaney  sat  down 
on  one  of  the  artillery  bridges,  and  began  in  the  usual 
way  :  his  pipe  between  his  teeth,  his  big  hands  clasped 
and  dropped  between  his  knees,  and  his  cap  well  on 
the  back  of  his  head  — 

'  Whin  Mrs.  Mulvaney,  that  is,  was  Miss  Shad,  that 
was,  you  were  a  dale  younger  than  you  are  now,  an' 
the  Army  was  difrint  in  sev'ril  e-senshuls.  Bhoys 
have  no  call  for  to  marry  nowadays,  an'  that's  why 
the  Army  has  so  few  rale,  good,  honust,  swearin', 
strapagin',  tinder-hearted,  heavy-f utted  wives  as  ut  used 
to  have  whin  1  was  a  Corp'ril.  i  was  rejuced  afther- 
wards — but  no  matther  —  I  was  a  Corp'ril  wanst.  In 
thini  times,  a  man  lived  an  died  wid  his  regiment ; 
an'  by  natur',  he  married  whin  he  was  a  man.  Whin 
I  was  Corp'ril  —  Mother  av  Hivin,  how  the  rigimint 
has  died  an'  been  borrun  since  that  day  ! — my  Colour- 
Sar'jint  was  Ould  McKenna,  an'  a  married  man  tu. 
An'  his  woife  —  his  first  woife,  for  he  married  three 
times  did  McKenna —  was  Bridget  McKenna.  from  Port- 


206  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

arlington,  like  mesilf.  I've  misremembered  fwhat  her 
first  name  was  ;  but  in  B  Comp'ny  we  called  her 
"  Ould  Pummeloe,"  by  reason  av  her  figure,  which  was 
entirely  cir-cum-fe-renshill.  Like  the  big  dhrum  ! 
Now  that  woman  —  God  rock  her  sowl  to  rest  in  glory  ! 

—  was  for  everlastin'  havin'  childher;  an'   McKenna, 
whin  the  fifth  or  sixth  come  squallin'  on  to  the  musther- 
roll,   swore  he  wud  number  thim  off  in  future.     But 
Ould  Pummeloe  she  prayed  av  him  to  christen  them 
after  the  names  av  the  stations  they  was  borrun  in. 
So  there  was  Colaba  McKenna,  an'  Muttra  McKenna, 
an'  a  whole   Presidincy  av  other  McKennas,  an'  little 
Jhansi,  dancin'  over  yonder.     Whin  the  childher  wasn't 
bornin',  they  was  dying  ;  for,  av  our  childher  die  like 
sheep  in  these  days,  they  died  like  flies  thin.      I  lost 
me  own  little  Shad  —  but  no  matther.     'Tis  long  ago, 
and  Mrs.  Mulvaney  niver  had  another. 

'I'm  digressing.  Wan  divil's  hot  summer,  there 
come  an  order  from  some  mad  ijjit,  whose  name  I  mis- 
remember,  for  the  rigimint  to  go  up-country.  Maybe 
they  wanted  to  know  how  the  new  rail  carried  throops. 
They  knew  !  On  me  sowl,  they  knew  before  they 
was  done  !  Old  Pummeloe  had  just  buried  Muttra 
McKenna  ;  an',  the  season  bein'  onwholesim,  only  little 
Jhansi  McKenna,  who  was  four  year  ould  thin,  was 
left  on  hand. 

'  Five  children  gone  in  fourteen  months.  'Twas 
harrd,  wasn't  ut? 

'  So  we  wint  up  to  our  new  station  in  that  bhizin'  heat 

—  may  the  curse  av  Saint  Lawrence  conshume  the  man 
who  gave  the  ordher  !     Will  I  iver  forget  that  move? 

o  o 

They  gave  us  two  wake  thrains  to  the  rigimint  ;  an' 
we  was  eight  hundher'  and  sivinty  strong.  There  was 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REGIMENT  207 

A,  B,  C,  an'  D  Companies  in  the  secon'  thrain,  wid 
twelve  women,  no  orficers'  ladies,  an'  thirteen  childher. 
We  was  to  go  six  hundher'  miles,  an'  railways  was  new 
in  thim  days.  Whin  we  had  been  a  night  in  the  belly 
av  the  thrain  —  the  men  ragin'  in  their  shirts  an'  dhrink- 
in'  anything  they  cud  find,  an'  eatin'  bad  fruit-stuff 
whin  they  cud,  for  we  cudn't  stop  'em  —  I  was  a  Corp'ril 
thin  —  the  cholera  bruk  out  wid  the  dawnin'  av  the  day. 

1  Pray  to  the  Saints,  you  may  niver  see  cholera  in 
a  throop-thrain  !  'Tis  like  the  judgmint  av  God  hittin' 
down  from  the  nakid  sky  !  We  run  into  a  rest-camp 
—  as  ut  might  have  been  Ludianny,  but  not  by  any 
means  so  comfortable.  The  Orficer  Commandin'  sent 
a  telegrapt  up  the  line,  three  hundher'  mile  up,  askin' 
for  help.  Faith,  we  wanted  ut,  for  ivry  sowl  av  the 
followers  ran  for  the  dear  life  as  soon  as  the  thrain 
stopped  ;  an'  by  the  time  that  telegrapt  was  writ,  there 
wasn't  a  naygur  in  the  station  exceptin'  the  telegrapt- 
clerk  —  an'  he  only  bekaze  he  was  held  down  to  his 
chair  by  the  scruff  av  his  sneakin'  black  neck.  Thin 
the  day  began  wid  the  noise  in  the  carr'ges,  an'  the 
rattle  av  the  men  on  the  platform  fallin'  over,  arms 
an'  all,  as  they  stud  for  to  answer  the  Comp'ny  muster- 
roll  before  goin'  over  to  the  camp.  'Tisn't  for  me  to 
say  what  like  the  cholera  was  like.  Maybe  the 
Doctor  cud  ha'  tould,  av  he  hadn't  dropped  on  to  the 
platform  from  the  door  av  a  carriage  where  we  was 
takiir  out  the  dead.  He  died  wid  the  rest.  Some 
bhoys  had  died  in  the  night.  We  tuk  out  siven,  and 
twenty  more  was  sickenin'  as  we  tuk  thim.  The 
women  was  huddled  up  anyways,  screamin"  wid  fear. 

'  Sez  the  Commandin'  Orficer  whose  name  I  misre- 
member,  "  Take  the  women  over  to  that  tope  av  trees 


208  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

yonder.  Get  tliim  out  av  the  camp.  'Tis  no  place 
for  thim." 

'  Ould  Pummeloe  was  sittin'  on  her  beddin'-rowl, 
thryin'  to  kape  little  Jhansi  quiet.  "  Go  off  to  that 
tope  !  "  sez  the  Orficer.  "  Go  out  av  the  men's  way !  " 

' "  Be  damned  av  I  do  !  "  sez  Ould  Pummeloe, 
an'  little  Jhansi,  squattin'  by  her  mother's  side, 
squeaks  out,  "  Be  damned  av  I  do,"  tu.  Thin  Ould 
Pummeloe  turns  to  the  women  an'  she  sez,  "  Are  ye 
goin'  to  let  the  bhoys  die  while  you're  picnickin',  ye 
sluts  ?  "  sez  she.  "  'Tis  wather  they  want.  Come  on 
an'  help." 

'  Wid  that,  she  turns  up  her  sleeves  an'  steps  out 
for  a  well  behind  the  rest-camp  —  little  Jhansi  trottiii' 
behind  wid  a  lotah  an'  string,  an'  the  other  women 
followin'  like  lambs,  wid  horse-buckets  and  cookin' 
pots.  Whin  all  the  things  was  full,  Ould  Pum- 
meloe marches  back  into  camp  —  'twas  like  a  battle- 
field wid  all  the  glory  missin'  —  at  the  hid  av  the 
rigimint  av  women. 

'  "  McKenna,  me  man  !  "  she  sez,  wid  a  voice  on  her 
like  grand-roun's  challenge,  "  tell  the  bhoys  to  be  quiet. 
Ould  Pummeloe's  comin'  to  look  afther  thim  —  wid 
free  dhrinks." 

'  Thin  we  cheered,  an'  the  cheerin'  in  the  lines  was 
louder  than  the  noise  av  the  poor  divils  wid  the  sick- 
ness on  thim.  But  not  much. 

'  You  see,  we  was  a  new  an'  raw  rigimint  in  those 
days,  an'  we  cud  make  neither  head  nor  tail  av  the 
sickness ;  an'  so  we  was  useless.  The  men  was  goin' 
roun'  an'  about  like  dumb  sheep,  waitiii'  for  the  nex' 
man  to  fall  over,  an'  sayin'  undher  their  spache,  "  Fwhat 
is  ut?  In  the  name  av  God,  fwhat  is  ut  ?  "  'Twas 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  REGIMENT  209 

horrible.  But  through  ut  all,  up  an'  down,  an'  down 
an'  up,  wint  Ould  Pummeloe  an'  little  Jhansi  — all  we 
cud  see  av  the  baby,  undher  a  dead  man's  helmut  wid 
the  chin-strap  swingin'  about  her  little  stummick  —  up 
an'  down  wid  the  wather  an'  fwhat  brandy  there  was. 

'Now  an'  thin  Ould  Pummeloe,  the  tears  runnin' 
down  her  fat,  red  face,  sez,  "  Me  bhoys,  me  poor,  dead, 
darlin'  bhoys  !  "  But,  for  the  most,  she  was  thryin'  to 
put  heart  into  the  men  an'  kape  thim  stiddy  ;  and 
little  Jhansi  was  tellin'  thim  all  they  wild  be  "  betther 
in  the  mornin'."  'Twas  a  thrick  she'd  picked  up  from 
hearin'  Ould  Pummeloe  whin  Muttra  was  burnin'  out 
wid  fever.  In  the  mornin' !  'Twas  the  iverlastin' 
mornin'  at  St.  Pether's  Gate  was  the  mornin'  for  seven- 
an'-twenty  good  men  ;  and  twenty  more  was  sick  to 
the  death  in  that  bitter,  burnin'  sun.  But  the  women 
worked  like  angils  as  I've  said,  an'  the  men  like  divils, 
till  two  doctors  come  down  from  above,  and  we  was 
rescued. 

'  But,  just  before  that,  Ould  Pummeloe,  on  her 
knees  over  a  bhoy  in  my  squad  —  right-cot  man  to  me 
he  was  in  the  barrick  —  tellin'  him  the  worrud  av  the 
Church  that  niver  failed  a  man  yet,  sez,  "  Hould  me 
up,  bhoys  !  I'm  feelin'  bloody  sick  !  "  'Twas  the  sun, 
not  the  cholera,  did  ut.  She  misremembered  she  was 
only  wearin'  her  ould  black  bonnet,  an'  she  died  wid 
"McKenna,  me  man,"  houldin'  her  up,  an' the  bhoys 
howled  whin  they  buried  her. 

'  That  night,  a  big  wind  blew,  an'  blew,  an'  blew, 
an'  blew  the  tents  flat.  But  it  blew  the  cholera  away 
an'  niver  another  case  there  was  all  the  while  we  was 
waitin'  —  ten  days  in  quarantin'.  Av  you  will  belave 
me,  the  thrack  ay  the  sickness  in  the  camp  was  for  all 


210  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

the  wurruld  the  thrack  av  a  man  walkin'  four  times  in 
a  figur-av-eight  through  the  tents.  They  say  'tis  the 
Wandherin'  Jew  takes  the  cholera  wid  him.  I  believe 
ut. 

'An'  that,'  said  Mulvaney,  illogically,  'is  the  cause 
why  little  Jhansi  McKenna  is  fwhat  she  is.  She  was 
brought  up  by  the  Quartermaster  Sergeant's  wife 
whin  McKenna  died,  but  she  b'longs  to  B  Comp'ny ; 
and  this  tale  I'm  tellin'  you  —  wid  a  proper  appreciashin 
av  Jhansi  McKenna  —  I've  belted  into  ivry  recruity  av 
the  Comp'ny  as  he  was  drafted.  'Faith,  'twas  me 
belted  Corp'ril  Slane  into  askin'  the  girl ! ' 

'  Not  really  ?  ' 

'  Man,  I  did  !  She's  no  beauty  to  look  at,  but  she's 
Ould  Pummeloe's  daughter,  an'  'tis  my  juty  to  pro- 
vide for  her.  Just  before  Slane  got  his  promotion 
I  sez  to  him,  "  Slane,"  sez  I,  "  to-morrow  'twill  be 
insubordinashin  av  me  to  chastise  you  ;  but,  by  the 
sowl  av  Ould  Pummeloe,  who  is  now  in  glory,  av  you 
don't  give  me  your  wurrud  to  ask  Jhansi  McKenna  at 
wanst.  I'll  peel  the  flesh  off  yer  bones  wid  a  brass  huk 
to-night.  'Tis  a  dishgrace  to  B  Comp'ny  she's  been 
single  so  long  !  "  sez  I.  Was  I  goin'  to  let  a  three-year- 
ould  preshume  to  discoorse  wid  me  —  my  will  bein'  set? 
No  !  Slane  wint  an'  asked  her.  He's  a  good  bhoy 
is  Slane.  Wan  av  these  days  he'll  get  into  the 
Com'ssariat  an'  dhrive  a  buggy  wid  his — savin's.  So 
I  provided  for  Ould  Pummeloe's  daughter  ;  an'  now 
you  go  along  an"  dance  agin  wid  her.' 

And  I  did. 

I  felt  a  respect  for  Miss  Jhansi  McKenna ;  and  I 
went  to  her  wedding  later  on. 

Perhaps  I  will  tell  you  about  that  one  of  these  days. 


IN  THE   PRIDE   OF   HIS   YOUTH 

'  Stopped  in  the  straight  when  the  race  was  his  own ! 
Look  at  him  cutting  it  —  cur  to  the  bone  ! ' 
'  Ask,  ere  the  youngster  be  rated  and  chidden, 
What  did  he  carry  and  how  was  he  ridden  ? 
Maybe  they  used  him  too  much  at  the  start ; 
Maybe  Fate's  weight-cloths  are  breaking  his  heart.' 

—  Life's  Handicap. 

WHEN  I  was  telling  you  of  the  joke  that  The  Worm 
played  off  on  the  Senior  Subaltern,  I  promised  a  some- 
what similar  tale,  but  with  all  the  jest  left  out.  This 
is  that  tale. 

Dicky  Hatt  was  kidnapped  in  his  early,  early  youth 
—  neither  by  landlady's  daughter,  housemaid,  barmaid, 
nor  cook,  but  by  a  girl  so  nearly  of  his  own  caste  that 
only  a  woman  could  have  said  she  was  just  the  least 
little  bit  in  the  world  oelow  it.  This  happened  a 
month  before  he  came  out  to  India,  and  five  days  after 
his  one-and-twentieth  birthday.  The  girl  was  nine- 
teen—  six  years  older  than  Dicky  in  the  things  of  this 
world,  that  is  to  say  —  and,  for  the  time,  twice  as  foolish 
as  he. 

Excepting,  always,  falling  off  a  horse  there  is  nothing 
more  fatally  easy  than  marriage  before  the  Registrar. 
The  ceremony  costs  less  than  iifty  shillings,  and  is  re- 
markably like  walking  into  a  pawn-shop.  After  the 

211 


212  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

declarations  of  residence  Irave  been  put  in,  four  minutes 
will  cover  the  rest  of  the  proceedings  —  fees,  attestation, 
and  all.  Then  the  Registrar  slides  the  blotting-pad 
over  the  names,  and  says  grimly  with  his  pen  between 
his  teeth,  '  Now  you're  man  and  wife '  ;  and  the  couple 
walk  out  into  the  street  feeling  as  if  something  were 
horribly  illegal  somewhere. 

But  that  ceremony  holds  and  can  drag  a  man  to  his 
undoing  just  as  thoroughly  as  the  'long  as  ye  both 
shall  live '  curse  from  the  altar-rails,  with  the  brides- 
maids giggling  behind,  and  '  The  Voice  that  breathed 
o'er  Eden '  lifting  the  roof  off.  In  this  manner  was 
Dicky  Hatt  kidnapped,  and  he  considered  it  vastly  fine, 
for  he  had  received  an  appointment  in  India  which 
carried  a  magnificent  salary  from  the  Home  point  of 
view.  The  marriage  was  to  be  kept  secret  for  a  year. 
Then  Mrs.  Dicky  Hatt  was  to  come  out,  and  the  rest  of 
life  was  to  be  a  glorious  golden  mist.  That  was  how 
they  sketched  it  under  the  Addison  Road  Station  lamps  ; 
and,  after  one  short  month,  came  Gravesend  and  Dicky 
steaming  out  to  his  new  life,  and  the  girl  crying  in  a 
thirty-shillings  a  week  bed-and-living-room,  in  a  back- 
street  off  Montpelier  Square  near  the  Knightsbridge 
Barracks. 

But  the  country  that  Dicky  came  to  was  a  hard 
land  where  men  of  twenty-one  were  reckoned  very 
small  boys  indeed,  and  life  was  expensive.  The  salary 
that  loomed  so  large  six  thousand  miles  away  did  not 
go  far.  Particularly  when  Dicky  divided  it  by  two, 
and  remitted  more  than  the  fair  half,  at  1-6|>  to  Mont- 
pelier Square.  One  hundred  and  thirty-five  rupees  out 
of  three  hundred  and  thirty  is  not  much  to  live  on ; 
but  it  was  absurd  to  suppose  that  Mrs.  Hatt  could 


IN  THE  PRIDE  OF  HIS  YOUTH  213 

exist  for  ever  on  the  X20  held  back  by  Dicky  from  his 
outfit  allowance.  Dicky  saw  this  and  remitted  at 
once;  always  remembering  that  Rs.700  were  to  be 
paid,  twelve  months  later,  for  a  first-class  passage  out 
for  a  lady.  When  you  add  to  these  trifling  details  the 
natural  instincts  of  a  boy  beginning  a  new  life  in  a 
new  country  and  longing  to  go  about  and  enjoy  him- 
self, and  the  necessity  for  grappling  with  strange  work 
-  which,  properly  speaking,  should  take  up  a  boy's 
undivided  attention  —  you  will  see  that  Dicky  started 
handicapped.  He  saw  it  himself  for  a  breath  or  two  ; 
but  he  did  not  guess  the  full  beauty  of  his  future. 

As  the  hot  weather  began,  the  shackles  settled  on 
him  and  ate  into  his  flesh.  First  would  come  letters 
—  big,  crossed,  seven-sheet  letters  —  from  his  wife,  tell- 
ing him  how  she  longed  to  see  him,  and  what  a  Heaven 
upon  earth  would  be  their  property  when  they  met. 
Then  some  boy  of  the  chummery  wherein  Dicky  lodged 
would  pound  on  the  door  of  his  bare  little  room,  and 
tell  him  to  come  out  to  look  at  a  pony  —  the  very  thing 
to  suit  him.  Dicky  could  not  afford  ponies.  He  had 
to  explain  this.  Dicky  could  not  afford  living  in  the 
chummery,  modest  as  it  was.  He  had  to  explain  this 
before  he  moved  to  a  single  room  next  the  office  where 
he  worked  all  day.  He  kept  house  on  a  green  oil- 
cloth table-cover,  one  chair,  one  bedstead,  one  photo- 
graph, one  tooth-glass  very  strong  and  thick,  a  seven- 
rupee  eight-anna  filter,  and  messing  by  contract  at 
thirty-seven  rupees  a  month.  Which  last  item  was 
extortion.  He  had  no  punkah,  for  a  punkah  costs 
fifteen  rupees  a  month ;  but  he  slept  on  the  roof  of  the 
office  with  all  his  wife's  letters  under  his  pillow.  Now 
and  again  he  was  asked  out  to  dinner,  where  he  got 


214  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

both  a  punkah  and  an  iced  drink.  But  this  was 
seldom,  for  people  objected  to  recognising  a  boy  who 
had  evidently  the  instincts  of  a  Scotch  tallow-chandler, 
and  who  lived  in  such  a  nasty  fashion.  Dicky  could 
not  subscribe  to  any  amusement,  so  he  found  no  amuse- 
ment except  the  pleasure  of  turning  over  his  Bank-book 
and  reading  what  it  said  about  '  loans  on  approved 
security.'  That  cost  nothing.  He  remitted  through  a 
Bombay  Bank,  by  the  way,  and  the  Station  knew 
nothing  of  his  private  affairs. 

Each  month  he  sent  Home  all  that  he  could  possibly 
spare  for  his  wife  and  for  another  Reason  which  was 
expected  to  explain  itself  shortly,  and  would  require 
more  money. 

About  this  time  Dicky  was  overtaken  with  the 
nervous,  haunting  fear  that  besets  married  men  when 
they  are  out  of  sorts.  He  had  no  pension  to  look  to. 
What  if  he  should  die  suddenly,  and  leave  his  wife 
unprovided  for  ?  The  thought  would  lay  hold  of  him 
in  the  still,  hot  nights  on  the  roof,  till  the  shaking  of 
his  heart  made  him  think  that  he  was  going  to  die 
then  and  there  of  heart-disease.  Now  this  is  a  frame 
of  mind  which  no  boy  has  a  right  to  know.  It  is  a 
strong  man's  trouble  ;  but,  coming  when  it  did,  it 
nearly  drove  poor  punkah-less,  perspiring  Dicky  Hatt 
mad.  He  could  tell  no  one  about  it. 

A  certain  amount  of  '  screw '  is  as  necessary  for  a 
man  as  for  a  billiard-ball.  It  makes  them  both  do 
wonderful  things.  Dicky  needed  money  badly,  and 
he  worked  for  it  like  a  horse.  But,  naturally,  the 
men  who  owned  him  knew  that  a  boy  can  live  very 
comfortably  on  a  certain  income  —  pay  in  India  is  a 
matter  of  age  not  merit,  you  see,  and,  if  their  par- 


IN  THE  PRIDE  OF  HIS  YOUTH  215 

ticular  boy  wished  to  work  like  two  boys,  Business 
forbid  that  they  should  stop  him.  But  Business 
forbid  that  they  should  give  him  an  increase  of  pay 
at  his  present  ridiculously  immature  age  !  So  Dicky 
won  certain  rises  of  salary  —  ample  for  a  boy  —  not 
enough  for  a  wife  and  a  child  —  certainly  too  little  for 
the  seven-hundred-rupee  passage  that  he  and  Mrs. 
Hatt  had  discussed  so  lightly  once  upon  a  time.  And 
with  this  he  was  forced  to  be  content. 

Somehow,  all  his  money  seemed  to  fade  away  in 
Home  drafts  and  the  crushing  Exchange,  and  the  tone 
of  the  Home  letters  changed  and  grew  querulous. 
'  Why  wouldn't  Dicky  have  his  wife  and  the  baby 
out  ?  Surely  he  had  a  salary  —  a  fine  salary  —  and  it 
was  too  bad  of  him  to  enjoy  himself  in  India.  But 
would  he  —  could  he  —  make  the  next  draft  a  little 
more  elastic  ? '  Here  followed  a  list  of  baby's  kit, 
as  long  as  a  Parsee's  bill.  Then  Dicky,  whose  heart 
yearned  to  his  wife  and  the  little  son  he  had  never 
seen,  —  which,  again,  is  a  feeling  no  boy  is  entitled  to, 
—  enlarged  the  draft  and  wrote  queer  half-boy,  half- 
man  letters,  saying  that  life  was  not  so  enjoyable 
after  all  and  would  the  little  wife  wait  yet  a  little 
longer  ?  But  the  little  wife,  however  much  she 
approved  of  money,  objected  to  waiting,  and  there  was 
a  strange,  hard  sort  of  ring  in  her  letters  that  Dicky 
didn't  understand.  How  could  he,  poor  boy  ? 

Later  on  still  —  just  as  Dicky  had  been  told  — 
apropos  of  another  youngster  who  had  'made  a  fool 
of  himself  as  the  saying  is  —  that  matrimony  would 
not  only  ruin  his  further  chances  of  advancement, 
but  would  lose  him  his  present  appointment  —  came 
Cne  news  that  the  baby,  his  own  little,  little  son,  had 


216  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

died  and,  behind  this,  forty  lines  of  an  angry  woman's 
scrawl,  saying  the  death  might  have  been  averted  if 
certain  things,  all  costing  money,  had  been  done,  or 
if  the  mother  and  the  baby  had  been  with  Dicky. 
The  letter  struck  at  Dicky's  naked  heart ;  but,  not 
being  officially  entitled  to  a  baby,  he  could  show  no 
sign  of  trouble. 

How  Dicky  won  through  the  next  four  months, 
and  what  hope  he  kept  alight  to  force  him  into  his 
work,  no  one  dare  say.  He  pounded  on,  the  seven- 
hundred-rupee  passage  as  far  away  as  ever,  and  his 
style  of  living  unchanged,  except  when  he  launched 
into  a  new  filter.  There  was  the  strain  of  his  office- 
work,  and  the  strain  of  his  remittances,  and  the 
knowledge  of  his  boy's  death,  which  touched  the  boy 
more,  perhaps,  than  it  would  have  touched  a  man  ; 
and,  beyond  all,  the  enduring  strain  of  his  daily  life. 
Gray-headed  seniors  who  approved  of  his  thrift  and 
his  fashion  of  denying  himself  everything  pleasant, 
reminded  him  of  the  old  saw  that  says  — 

If  a  youth  would  be  distinguished  in  his  art,  art,  art, 
He  must  keep  the  girls  away  from  his  heart,  heart,  heart. 

And  Dicky,  who  fancied  he  had  been  through  erery 
trouble  that  a  man  is  permitted  to  know,  had  to  laugh 
and  agree  ;  with  the  last  line  of  his  balanced  Bank- 
book jingling  in  his  head  day  and  night. 

But  he  had  one  more  sorrow  to  digest  before  the 
end.  There  arrived  a  letter  from  the  little  wife  — 
the  natural  sequence  of  the  others  if  Dicky  had  only 
known  it  —  and  the  burden  of  that  letter  was  'gone 
with  a  handsomer  man  than  you.'  It  was  a  rather 
curious  production,  without  stops,  something  like 


IN  THE  PRIDE  OF  HIS  YOUTH  217 

this  — '  She  was  not  going  to  wait  for  ever  and  the 
baby  was  dead  and  Dicky  was  only  a  boy  and  he 
would  never  set  eyes  on  her  again  and  why  hadn't 
he  waved  his  handkerchief  to  her  when  he  left 
Gravesend  and  God  was  her  judge  she  was  a  wicked 
woman  but  Dicky  was  worse  enjoying  himself  in  India 
and  this  other  man  loved  the  ground  she  trod  on  and 
would  Dicky  ever  forgive  her  for  she  would  never  for- 
give Dicky ;  and  there  was  no  address  to  write  to.' 

Instead  of  thanking  his  stars  that  he  was  free, 
Dicky  discovered  exactly  how  an  injured  husband 
feels  —  again,  not  at  all  the  knowledge  to  which  a  boy 
is  entitled  —  for  his  mind  went  back  to  his  wife  as 
he  remembered  her  in  the  thirty -shilling  'suite'  in 
Montpelier  Square,  when  the  dawn  of  his  last  morning 
in  England  was  breaking,  and  she  was  crying  in  the 
bed.  Whereat  he  rolled  about  on  his  bed  and  bit  his 
fingers.  He  never  stopped  to  think  whether,  if  he  had 
met  Mrs.  Hatt  after  those  two  years,  he  would  have 
discovered  that  he  and  she  had  grown  quite  different 
and  new  persons.  This,  theoretically,  he  ought  to 
have  done.  He  spent  the  night  after  the  English 
Mail  came  in  rather  severe  pain. 

Next  morning,  Dicky  Hatt  felt  disinclined  to  work. 
He  argued  that  he  had  missed  the  pleasure  of  youth. 
He  was  tired,  and  he  had  tasted  all  the  sorrow  in  life 
before  three-and-twenty.  His  Honour  was  gone  — 
that  was  the  man ;  and  now  he,  too,  would  go  to  the 
Devil  —  that  was  the  boy  in  him.  So  he  put  his  head 
down  on  the  green  oil-cloth  table-cover,  and  wept  before 
resigning  his  post,  and  all  it  offered. 

But  the  reward  of  his  services  came.  He  was 
g'iven  three  days  to  reconsider  himself,  and  the  Head 


218  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

of  the  establishment,  after  some  telegraphings,  said 
that  it  was  a  most  unusual  step,  but,  in  view  of  the 
ability  that  Mr.  Hatt  had  displayed  at  such  and  such 
a  time,  at  such  and  such  junctures,  he  was  in  a 
position  to  offer  him  an  infinitely  superior  post  —  first 
on  probation  and  later,  in  the  natural  course  of  things, 
on  confirmation.  'And  how  much  does  the  post 
carry  ?  '  said  Dicky.  '  Six  hundred  and  fifty  rupees,' 
said  the  Head  slowly,  expecting  to  see  the  young  man 
sink  with  gratitude  and  joy. 

And  it  came  then !  The  seven-hundred-rupee- 
passage,  and  enough  to  have  saved  the  wife,  and  the 
little  son,  and  to  have  allowed  of  assured  and  open 
marriage,  came  then.  Dicky  burst  into  a  roar  of 
laughter — laughter  he  could  not  check  —  nasty,  jan- 
gling merriment  that  seemed  as  if  it  would  go  on  for 
ever.  When  he  had  recovered  himself  he  said, 
quite  seriously,  '  I'm  tired  of  work.  I'm  an  old  man 
now.  It's  about  time  I  retired.  And  I  will.' 

'  The  boy's  mad  !  '  said  the  Head. 

I  think  he  was  right ;  but  Dicky  Hatt  never 
reappeared  to  settle  the  question. 


PIG 

<jto,  stalk  the  red  deer  o'er  the  heather, 

Hide,  follow  the  fox  if  you  can  ! 
But,  for  pleasure  and  profit  together, 

Allow  me  the  hunting  of  Man,  — 
The  chase  of  the  Human,  the  search  for  the  Soul 

To  its  ruin,  —  the  hunting  of  Man. 

—  The  Old  Shikarri. 

THE  difference  began  in  the  matter  of  a  horse,  with 
a  twist  in  his  temper,  whom  Pinecoffin  sold  to 
Nafferton  and  by  whom  Nafferton  was  nearly  slain. 
There  may  have  been  other  causes  of  offence,  but  the 
horse  was  the  official  stalking-horse.  Nafferton  was 
very  angry ;  but  Pinecoffin  laughed,  and  said  that  he 
had  never  guaranteed  the  beast's  manners.  Nafferton 
laughed  too,  though  he  vowed  that  he  would  write  off 
his  fall  against  Pinecoffin  if  lie  waited  live  years. 
Now,  a  Dalesman  from  beyond  Skipton  will  forgive  an 
injury  when  the  Stricl  lets  a  man  live  ;  but  a  South 
Devon  man  is  as  soft  as  a  Dartmoor  bog.  You  can 
see  from  their  names  that  Nafferton  had  the  race- 
advantage  of  Pinecoftin.  He  was  a  peculiar  man,  and 
his  notions  of  humour  were  cruel,  lie  taught  me  a 
new  and  fascinating  form  of  shikar,  lie  hounded  Pine- 
coftin from  Mithankot  to  Jagadri,  and  from  Crurgaon  to 
Abbottabad  —  up  and  across  the  Punjab,  a  large  Pro- 

219 


220  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

vince,  and  in  places  remarkably  dry.  He  said  that  ha 
had  no  intention  of  allowing  Assistant  Commissioners 
to  '  sell  him  pups,'  in  the  shape  of  ramping,  screaming, 
countrybreds,  without  making  their  lives  a  burden  to 
them. 

Most  Assistant  Commissioners  develop  a  bent  for 
some  special  work  after  their  first  hot  weather  in  the 
country.  The  boys  with  digestions  hope  to  write  their 
names  large  on  the  Frontier,  and  struggle  for  dreary 
places  like  Bamiu  and  Kohat.  The  bilious  ones  climb 
into  the  Secretariat.  Which  is  very  bad  for  the  liver. 
Others  are  bitten  with  a  mania  for  District  work, 
Ghuznivide  coins  or  Persian  poetry ;  while  some,  who 
come  of  farmers'  stock,  find  that  the  smell  of  the  Earth 
after  the  Rains  gets  into  their  blood,  and  calls  them  to 
'develop  the  resources  of  the  Province.'  These  men 
are  enthusiasts.  Pinecoffin  belonged  to  their  class. 
He  knew  a  great  many  facts  bearing  on  the  cost  of 
bullocks  and  temporary  wells,  and  opium-scrapers,  and 
what  happens  if  you  burn  too  much  rubbish  on  a  field 
in  the  hope  of  enriching  used-up  soil.  All  the  Pine- 
coffins  come  of  a  landholding  breed,  and  so  the  land 
only  took  back  her  OAVII  again.  Unfortunately  —  most 
unfortunately  for  Pinecoffin  —  he  was  a  Civilian,  as 
well  as  a  farmer.  Nafferton.  watched  him,  and  thought 
about  the  horse.  Nafferton  said,  '  See  me  chase  that 
boy  till  he  drops  ! '  I  said,  '  You  can't  get  your  knife 
into  an  Assistant  Commissioner.'  Nafferton  told  me 
that  I  did  not  understand  the  administration  of  the 
Province. 

Our  Government  is  rather  peculiar.  It  gushes  on 
the  agricultural  and  general  information  side,  and  will 
supply  a  moderately  respectable  man  with  all  sorts  of 


PIG  221 

*  economic  statistics,'  if  he  speaks  to  it  prettily.  For 
instance,  you  are  interested  in  gold-washing  in  the 
sands  of  the  Sutlej.  You  pull  the  string,  and  find  that 
it  wakes  up  half  a  dozen  Departments,  and  finally 
communicates,  say,  with  a  friend  of  yours  in  the  Tele 
graph,  who  once  wrote  some  notes  on  the  customs  of 
the  gold-washers  when  he  was  on  construction-work 
in  their  part  of  the  Empire.  He  may  or  may  not  be 
pleased  at  being  ordered  to  write  out  everything  he 
knows  for  your  benefit.  This  depends  on  his  tempera- 
ment. The  bigger  man  you  are,  the  more  information 
and  the  greater  trouble  can  you  raise. 

Nafferton  was  not  a  big  man  ;  but  he  had  the  repu- 
tation of  being  very  '  earnest.'  An  '  earnest '  man  can 
do  much  with  a  Government.  There  was  an  earnest 
man  once  who  nearly  wrecked  .  .  .  but  all  India 
knows  that  story.  I  am  not  sure  what  real  '  earnest- 
ness '  is.  A  very  fair  imitation  can  be  manufactured 
by  neglecting  to  dress  decently,  by  mooning  about  in 
a  dreamy,  misty  sort  of  a  way,  by  taking  office-work 
home,  after  staying  in  office  till  seven,  and  by  receiv- 
ing crowds  of  native  gentlemen  on  Sundays.  That  is 
one  sort  of  'earnestness.' 

Nafferton  cast  about  for  a  peg  whereon  to  hang  his 
earnestness,  and  for  a  string  that  would  communicate 
with  Pinecoffin.  He  found  both.  They  were  Pig. 
Nafferton  became  an  earnest  inquirer  after  Pig.  Hv  in- 
formed the  Government  that  he  had  a  scheme  whereby 
a  very  large  percentage  of  the  British  Army  in  India 
could  be  fed,  at  a  very  large  saving,  on  Pig.  Then  he 
hinted  that  Pinecoffin  might  supply  him  with  the 
'  varied  information  necessary  to  the  proper  inception 
of  the  scheme.'  So  the  Government  wrote  on  the 


222  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

back  of  the  letter,  '  Instruct  Mr.  Pinecoffin  to  furnish 
Mr.  Nafferton  with  any  information  in  his  power.* 
Government  is  very  prone  to  writing  things  on  the 
backs  of  letters  which,  later,  lead  to  sore  trouble. 

Nafferton  had  not  the  faintest  interest  in  Pig,  but 
he  knew  that  Pinecoffin  would  flounce  into  the  trap. 
Pinecoffin  was  delighted  at  being  consulted  about  Pig. 
The  Indian  Pig  is  not  exactly  an  important  factor  in 
agricultural  life  ;  but  Nafferton  explained  to  Pinecoffin 
that  there  was  room  for  improvement,  and  corresponded 
directly  with  that  young  man. 

You  may  think  that  there  is  not  much  to  be  evolved 
from  Pig.  It  all  depends  how  you  set  to  work. 
Pinecoffin  being  a  Civilian  and  wishing  to  do  things 
thoroughly,  began  with  an  essay  on  the  Primitive  Pig, 
the  Mythology  of  the  Pig,  and  the  Dravidian  Pig. 
Nafferton  filed  that  information  —  twenty-seven  fools- 
cap sheets  —  and  desired  to  know  about  the  distribu- 
tion of  the  Pig  in  the  Punjab,  and  how  it  stood  the 
Plains  in  the  hot  weather.  From  this  point  on- 
wards, remember  that  I  am  giving  you  only  the  barest 
outlines  of  the  affair — the  guy-ropes,  as  it  were, 
of  the  hideous  web  that  Nafferton  spun  round  Pine- 
coffin. 

Pinecoffin  made  a  coloured  Pig-population  map,  and 
collected  observations  on  the  comparative  longevity  of 
Pig  (a)  in  the  sub-montane  tracts  of  the  Himalayas, 
and  (5)  in  the  Rechna  Doab.  Nafferton  filed  that,  and 
asked  what  sort  of  people  looked  after  Pig.  This 
started  an  ethnological  excursus  on  swineherds,  and 
drew  from  Pinecoffin  long  tables  showing  the  propor- 
tion per  thousand  of  that  caste  in  the  Derajat.  Naffer- 
ton filed  the  bundle,  and  explained  that  the  figures 


PIG  223 

which  he  wanted  referred  to  the  Cis-Sutlej  states, 
where  he  understood  that  Pigs  were  very  fine  and 
large,  and  where  he  proposed  to  start  a  Piggery.  By 
this  time,  Government  had  quite  forgotten  their  in- 
structions to  Mr.  Pinecoffin.  They  were  like  the 
gentlemen,  in  Keats'  poem,  who  turned  well-oiled 
wheels  to  skin  other  people.  But  Pinecoffin  was  just 
entering  into  the  spirit  of  the  Pig-hunt ;  as  Nafferton 
well  knew  he  would  do.  He  had  a  fair  amount  of 
work  of  his  own  to  clear  away ;  but  he  sat  up  of 
nights  reducing  Pig  to  five  places  of  decimals  for  the 
honour  of  his  Service.  He  was  not  going  to  appear 
ignorant  of  so  easy  a  subject  as  Pig. 

Then  Government  sent  him  on  special  duty  to 
Kohat,  to  '  inquire  into '  the  big,  seven-foot,  iron-shod 
spades  of  that  District.  People  had  been  killing  each 
other  with  those  peaceful  tools ;  and  Government 
wished  to  know  '  whether  a  modified  form  of  agricul- 
tural implement  could  not,  tentatively  and  as  a 
temporary  measure,  be  introduced  among  the  agri- 
cultural population  without  needlessly  or  unduly 
exacerbating  the  existing  religious  sentiments  of  the 
peasantry.' 

Between  those  spades  and  Nafferton's  Pig,  Pine- 
coirin  was  rather  heavily  burdened. 

Nafferton  now  began  to  take  up  '  (<z)  The  food- 
supply  of  the  indigenous  Pig,  with  a  view  to  the  im- 
provement of  its  capacities  as  a  flesh-former.  (/>)  The 
acclimatisation  of  the  exotic  Pig,  maintaining  its 
distinctive  peculiarities.'  Pinecotlin  replied  exhaus- 
tivelv  that  the  exotic  Pig  would  become  merged  in 

i/  O  O 

the  indigenous  typo  ;  and  quoted  horse-breeding 
statistics  to  prove  this.  The  side  issue  was  debated, 


224  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

at  great  length  on  Pinecoffin's  side,  till  Nafferton 
owned  that  he  had  been  in  the  wrong,  and  moved  the 
previous  question.  When  Pinecoffin  had  quite  written 
himself  out  about  flesh-formers,  and  fibrins,  and  glucose 
and  the  nitrogenous  constituents  of  maize  and  lucerne, 
Nafferton  raised  the  question  of  expense.  By  this 
time  Pinecoffin,  who  had  been  transferred  from  Kohat, 
had  developed  a  Pig  theory  of  his  own,  which  he  stated 
in  thirty-three  folio  pages  —  all  carefully  filed  by  Naf- 
ferton. Who  asked  for  more. 

These  things  covered  ten  months,  and  Pinecoffin's 
interest  in  the  potential  Piggery  seemed  to  die  down 
after  he  had  stated  his  own  views.  But  Nafferton 
bombarded  him  with  letters  on  '  the  Imperial  aspect  of 
the  scheme,  as  tending  to  officialise  the  sale  of  pork, 
and  thereby  calculated  to  give  offence  to  the  Moham- 
medan population  of  Upper  India.'  He  guessed  that 
Pinecoffin  would  want  some  broad,  free-hand  work 
after  his  niggling,  decimal  details.  Pinecoffin  handled 
the  latest  development  of  the  case  in  masterly  style, 
and  proved  that  no  '  popular  ebullition  of  excitement 
was  to  be  apprehended.'  Nafferton  said  that  there 
was  nothing  like  Civilian  insight  in  matters  of  this 
kind,  and  lured  him  up  a  by-path  — '  the  possible 
profits  to  accrue  to  the  Government  from  the  sale 
of  hog-bristles.'  There  is  an  extensive  literature  of 
hog-bristles,  and  the  shoe,  brush,  and  colourman's 
trades  recognise  more  varieties  of  bristles  than  you 
would  think  possible.  After  Pinecoffin  had  wondered 
a  little  at  Nafferton's  rage  for  information,  he  sent 
back  a  monograph,  fifty-one  pages,  on  '  Products  of 
the  Pig.'  This  led  him,  under  Nafferton's  tender 
handling,  straight  to  the  Cawnpore  factories,  the  trade 


KG  225 

in  hog-skin  for  saddles  —  and  thence  to  the  tanners. 
Pinecoffin  wrote  that  pomegranate-seed  was  the  best 
cure  for  hog-skin,  and  suggested  —  for  the  past  fourteen 
months  had  wearied  him  —  that  Nafferton  should  '  raise 
his  pigs  before  he  tanned  them.' 

Nafferton  went  back  to  the  second  section  of  his 
fifth  question.  How  could  the  exotic  Pig  be  brought 
to  give  as  much  pork  as  it  did  in  the  West  and  yet 
'  assume  the  essentially  hirsute  characteristics  of  its 
Oriental  congener '  ?  Pinecoffin  felt  dazed,  for  he  had 
forgotten  what  he  had  written  sixteen  months  before, 
and  fancied  that  he  was  about  to  reopen  the  entire 
question.  He  was  too  far  involved  in  the  hideous 
tangle  to  retreat,  and,  in  a  weak  moment,  he  wrote, 
'  Consult  my  first  letter. '  Which  related  to  the  Dravi- 
dian  Pig.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Pinecoffin  had  still  to 
reach  the  acclimatisation  stage  ;  having  gone  off  on  a 
side  issue  on  the  merging  of  types. 

Then  Nafferton  really  unmasked  his  batteries  !  He 
complained  to  the  Government,  in  stately  language,  of 
4  the  paucity  of  help  accorded  to  me  in  my  earnest 
attempts  to  start  a  potentially  remunerative  industry, 
and  the  flippancy  with  which  my  requests  for  informa- 
tion are  treated  by  a  gentleman  whose  pseudo-scholarly 
attainments  should  at  least  have  taught  him  the 
primary  differences  between  the  Dravidian  and  the 
Berkshire  variety  of  the  genus  Sus.  If  I  am  to  under- 
stand that  the  letter  to  which  he  refers  me,  contains 
his  serious  views  on  the  acclimatisation  of  a  valuable, 
though  possibly  uncleanly,  animal,  I  am  reluctantly 
compelled  to  believe,'  etc.  etc. 

There  was  a  new  man  at  the  head  of  the  Depart- 
ment of  Castiation.  The  wretched  Pinecoffin  wag 


226  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

told  that  the  Service  was  made  for  the  Country,  and 
not  the  Country  for  the  Service,  and  that  he  had  better 
begin  to  supply  information  about  Pigs. 

Pinecoffin  answered  insanely  that  he  had  written 
everything  that  could  be  written  about  Pig,  and  that 
some  furlough  was  due  to  him. 

Nafferton  got  a  copy  of  that  letter,  and  sent  it,  with 
the  essay  on  the  Dravidian  Pig,  to  a  down-country 
paper  which  printed  both  in  full.  The  essay  was 
rather  high-flown ;  but  if  the  Editor  had  seen  the 
stacks  of  paper,  in  Pinecoffin's  handwriting,  on  Naffer- 
ton's  table,  he  would  not  have  been 'so  sarcastic  about 
the  '  nebulous  discursiveness  and  blatant  self-sufficiency 
of  the  modern  Competition-waZZa^,  and  his  utter 
inability  to  grasp  the  practical  issues  of  a  practical 
question.'  Many  friends  cut  out  these  remarks  and 
sent  them  to  Pinecoffin. 

I  have  already  stated  that  Pinecoffin  came  of  a  soft 
stock.  This  last  stroke  frightened  and  shook  him. 
He  could  not  understand  it ;  but  he  felt  that  he  had 
been,  somehow,  shamelessly  betrayed  by  Nafferton.  He 
realised  that  he  had  wrapped  himself  up  in  the  Pigskin 
without  need,  and  that  he  could  not  well  set  himself 
right  with  his  Government.  All  his  acquaintances 
asked  after  his  '  nebulous  discursiveness  '  or  his  '  blatant 
self-sufficiency,'  and  this  made  him  miserable. 

He  took  a  train  and  went  to  Nafferton,  whom  he  had 
not  seen  since  the  Pig  business  began.  He  also  took 
the  cutting  from  the  paper,  and  blustered  feebly  and 
called  Nafferton  names,  and  then  died  down  to  a 
watery,  weak  protest  of  the  '  I-say-it's-too-bad-you- 
know'  order. 

Nafferton  was  very  sympathetic. 


PIG  227 

'I'm  afraid  I've  given  you  a  good  deal  of  trouble, 
haven't  I  ? '  said  he. 

'  Trouble  !  '  whimpered  Pinecoffin  ;  '  I  don't  mind 
the  trouble  so  much,  though  that  was  bad  enough , 
but  what  I  resent  is  this  showing  up  in  print.  It  will 
stick  to  me  like  a  burr  all  through  my  service.  And 
I  did  do  my  best  for  your  interminable  swine.  It's 
too  bad  of  you  —  on  my  soul  it  is  !  ' 

'  I  don't  know,'  said  Nafferton.  '  Have  you  ever 
been  stuck  with  a  horse  ?  It  isn't  the  money  I 
mind,  though  that  is  bad  enough  ;  but  what  I  resent 
is  the  chaff  that  follows,  especially  from  the  boy  who 
stuck  me.  But  I  think  we'll  cry  quits  now.' 

Pinecoffin  found  nothing  to  say  save  bad  words  ; 
and  Nafferton  smiled  ever  so  sweetly,  and  asked  him 
to  dinner. 


THE  ROUT  OF  THE  WHITE  HUSSARS 

It  was  not  in  the  open  fight 

We  threw  away  the  sword, 
But  in  the  lonely  watching 

In  the  darkness  by  the  ford. 
The  waters  lapped,  the  night-wind  blew, 
Full-armed  the  Fear  was  born  and  grew, 
And  we  were  flying  ere  we  knew 

From  panic  in  the  night. 

—  Beoni  Bar. 

SOME  people  hold  that  an  English  Cavalry  regiment 
cannot  run.  This  is  a  mistake.  I  have  seen  four 
hundred  and  thirty-seven  sabres  flying  over  the  face 
of  the  country  in  abject  terror  —  have  seen  the  best 
Regiment  that  ever  drew  bridle  wiped  off  the  Army 
List  for  the  space  of  two  hours.  If  you  repeat  this 
tale  to  the  White  Hussars  they  will,  in  all  probability, 
treat  you  severely.  They  are  not  proud  of  the  incident. 
You  may  know  the  White  Hussars  by  their  'side,' 
which  is  greater  than  that  of  all  the  Cavalry  Regiments 
on  the  roster.  If  this  is  not  a  sufficient  mark,  you 
may  know  them  by  their  old  brandy.  It  has  been 
sixty  years  in  the  Mess  and  is  worth  going  far  to  taste. 
Ask  for  the  '  McGaire  '  old  brandy,  and  see  that  you 
get  it.  If  the  Mess  Sergeant  thinks  that  you  are 
uneducated,  and  that  the  genuine  article  will  be  lost 

228 


THE  ROUT  OF  THE  WHITE  HUSSARS        229 

on  you,  he  will  treat  you  accordingly.  He  is  a  good 
man.  But,  when  you  are  at  Mess,  you  must  never 
talk  to  your  hosts  about  forced  marches  or  long-distance 
rides.  The  Mess  are  very  sensitive  ;  and,  if  they  think 
that  you  are  laughing  at  them,  will  tell  you  so. 

As  the  White  Hussars  say,  it  was  all  the  Colonel's 
fault.  He  was  a  new  man,  and  he  ought  never  to  have 
taken  the  Command.  He  said  that  the  Regiment  was 
not  smart  enough.  This  to  the  White  Hussars,  who 
knew  that  they  could  walk  round  any  Horse  and 
through  any  Guns  and  over  any  Foot  on  the  face  of 
the  earth  !  That  insult  was  the  first  cause  of  offence. 

Then  the  Colonel  cast  the  Drum-Horse  —  the  Drum- 
Horse  of  the  White  Hussars  !  Perhaps  you  do  not  see 
what  an  unspeakable  crime  he  had  committed.  I  will 
try  to  make  it  clear.  The  soul  of  the  Regiment  lives 
in  the  Drum-Horse  who  carries  the  silver  kettle-drums. 
He  is  nearly  always  a  big  piebald  Waler.  That  is  a 
point  of  honour  ;  and  a  Regiment  will  spend  anything 
you  please  on  a  piebald.  He  is  beyond  the  ordinary 
laws  of  casting.  His  work  is  very  light,  and  he  only 
manoeuvres  at  a  footpace.  Wherefore,  so  long  as  he 
can  step  out  and  look  handsome,  his  wellbeing  is 
assured.  He  knows  more  about  the  Regiment  than  the 
Adjutant,  and  could  not  make  a  mistake  if  he  tried. 

The  Drum-Horse  of  the  White  Hussars  was  only 
eighteen  years  old,  and  perfectly  equal  to  his  duties. 
He  had  at  least  six  years'  more  work  in  him,  and 
carried  himself  with  all  the  pomp  and  dignity  of  a 
Drum-Major  of  the  Guards.  The  Regiment  had  paid 
Rs.1200  for  him. 

But  the  Colonel  said  that  he  must  go,  and  he  was 
cast  in  due  form  and  replaced  by  a  washy,  bay  beast, 


230  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

as  ugly  as  a  mule,  with  a  ewe-neck,  rat-tail,  and  cow- 
hocks.  The  Drummer  detested  that  animal,  and  the 
best  of  the  Band-horses  put  back  their  ears  and  showed 
the  whites  of  their  eyes  at  the  very  sight  of  him. 
They  knew  him  for  an  upstart  and  no  gentleman.  I 
fancy  that  the  Colonel's  ideas  of  smartness  extended  to 
the  Band,  and  that  he  wanted  to  make  it  take  part 
in  the  regular  parade  movements.  A  Cavalry  Band 
is  a  sacred  thing.  It  only  turns  out  for  Commanding 
Officers'  parades,  and  the  Band  Master  is  one  degree 
more  important  than  the  Colonel.  He  is  a  High 
Priest  and  the  '  Keel  Row '  is  his  holy  song.  The 
'  Keel  Row '  is  the  Cavalry  Trot ;  and  the  man  who 
has  never  heard  that  tune  rising  above  the  rattle  of  the 
Regiment  going  past  the  saluting-base,  has  something 
yet  to  understand. 

When  the  Colonel  cast  the  Drum-Horse  of  the 
White  Hussars,  there  was  nearly  a  mutiny. 

The  officers  were  angry,  the  Regiment  were  furious, 
and  the  Bandsmen  swore  —  like  troopers.  The  Drum- 
Horse  was  going  to  be  put  up  to  auction  — public  auction 
—  to  be  bought,  perhaps,  by  a  Parsee  and  put  into  a 
cart  !  It  was  worse  than  exposing  the  inner  life  of 
the  Regiment  to  the  whole  world,  or  selling  the  Mess 
Plate  to  a  Jew  —  a  Black  Jew. 

The  Colonel  was  a  mean  man  and  a  bully.  He 
knew  what  the  Regiment  thought  about  his  action  ; 
and.  when  the  troopers  offered  to  buy  the  Drum-Horse, 
he  said  that  their  offer  was  mutinous  and  forbidden  by 
the  Regulations. 

But  one  of  the  Subalterns  —  Hogan-Yale,  an  Irish- 
man—  bought  the  Drum-Horse  for  Rs.160  at  the  sale  : 
and  the  Colonel  was  wroth.  Yale  professed  repentance 


THE  ROUT  OF  THE  WHITE  HUSSARS  231 

—  he  was  unnaturally  submissive  —  and  said  that,  as 
he  had  only  made  the  purchase  to  save  the  horse  from 
possible  ill-treatment  and  starvation,  he  would  now 
shoot  him  and  end  the  business.  This  appeared  to 
soothe  the  Colonel,  for  he  wanted  the  Drum-Horse 
disposed  of.  He  felt  that  he  had  made  a  mistake,  and 
could  not  of  course  acknowledge  it.  Meantime,  the 
presence  of  the  Drum-Horse  was  an  annoyance  to 
him. 

Yale  took  to  himself  a  glass  of  the  old  brandy,  three 
cheroots,  and  his  friend  Martyn ;  and  they  all  left  the 
Mess  together.  Yale  and  Martyn  conferred  for  two 
hours  in  Yale's  quarters  ;  but  only  the  bull-terrier  who 
keeps  watch  over  Yale's  boot-trees  knows  what  they 
said.  A  horse,  hooded  and  sheeted  to  his  ears,  left 
Yale's  stables  and  was  taken,  very  unwillingly,  into 
the  Civil  Lines.  Yale's  groom  went  with  him.  Two 
men  broke  into  the  Regimental  Theatre  and  took 
several  paint-pots  and  some  large  scenery-brushes. 
Then  night  fell  over  the  Cantonments,  and  there  was 
a  noise  as  of  a  horse  kicking  his  loose-box  to  pieces 
in  Yale's  stables.  Yale  had  a  big,  old,  white  Waler 
trap-horse. 

The  next  day  was  a  Thursday,  and  the  men,  hearing 
that  Yale  was  going  to  shoot  the  Drum-Horse  in  the 
evening,  determined  to  give  the  beast  a  regular  regi- 
mental funeral  —  a  finer  one  than  they  would  have 
given  the  Colonel  had  he  died  just  then.  They  got  a 
bullock-cart  and  some  sacking,  and  mounds  and  mounds 
of  roses,  and  the  body,  under  sacking,  was  carried  out 
to  the  plaee  where  the  anthrax  cases  were  cremated; 
two-thirds  of  the  Regiment  following.  There  was  no 
Band,  but  they  all  sang  '  The  Place  where  the  old  Horse 


232  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

died'  as  something  respectful  and  appropriate  to  the 
occasion.  When  the  corpse  was  dumped  into  the  grave 
and  the  men  began  throwing  down  armfuls  of  roses  to 
cover  it,  the  Farrier-Sergeant  ripped  out  an  oath  and 
said  aloud,  '  Why,  it  ain't  the  Drum-Horse  any  more 
than  it's  me  ! '  The  Troop-Sergeant-Majors  asked  him 
whether  he  had  left  his  head  in  the  Canteen.  The 
Farrier-Sergeant  said  that  he  knew  the  Drum-Horse's 
feet  as  well  as  he  knew  his  own ;  but  he  was  silenced 
when  he  saw  the  regimental  number  burnt  in  on  the 
poor  stiff,  upturned  near-fore. 

Thus  was  the  Drum-Horse  of  the  White  Hussars 
buried ;  the  Farrier-Sergeant  grumbling.  The  sacking 
that  covered  the  corpse  was  smeared  in  places  with 
black  paint ;  and  the  Farrier-Sergeant  drew  attention 
to  this  fact.  But  the  Troop-Sergeant-Major  of  E  Troop 
kicked  him  severely  on  the  shin,  and  told  him  that  he 
was  undoubtedly  drunk. 

On  the  Monday  following  the  burial,  the  Colonel 
sought  revenge  on  the  White  Hussars.  Unfortunately, 
being  at  that  time  temporarily  in  Command  of  the 
Station,  he  ordered  a  Brigade  field-day.  He  said  that 
he  wished  to  make  the  Regiment  '  sweat  for  their 
damned  insolence,'  and  he  carried  out  his  notion 
thoroughly.  That  Monday  was  one  of  the  hardest 
days  in  the  memory  of  the  White  Hussars.  They  were 
thrown  against  a  skeleton-enemy,  and  pushed  forward, 
and  withdrawn,  and  dismounted,  and  'scientifically 
handled'  in  every  possible  fashion  over  dusty  country, 
till  they  sweated  profusely.  Their  only  amusement 
came  late  in  the  day  when  they  fell  upon  the  battery 
of  Horse  Artillery  and  chased  it  for  two  miles.  This 
was  a  personal  question,  and  most  of  the  troopers  had 


233 

money  on  the  event ;  the  Gunners  saying  openly  that 
they  had  the  legs  of  the  White  Hussars.  They  were 
wrong.  A  march-past  concluded  the  campaign,  and 
when  the  Regiment  got  back  to  their  Lines,  the  men 
were  coated  with  dirt  from  spur  to  chin-strap. 

The  White  Hussars  have  one  great  and  peculiar 
privilege.  They  won  it  at  Fontenoy,  I  think. 

Many  Regiments  possess  special  rights  such  as 
wearing  collars  with  undress  uniform,  or  a  bow  of 
riband  between  the  shoulders,  or  red  and  white  roses 
in  their  helmets  on  certain  days  of  the  year.  Some 
rights  are  connected  with  regimental  saints,  and  some 
with  regimental  successes.  All  are  valued  hi  jhly ; 
but  none  so  highly  as  the  right  of  the  White  Hussars 
to  have  the  Band  playing  when  their  horses  are  being 
watered  in  the  Lines.  Only  one  tune  is  played,  and 
that  tune  never  varies.  I  don't  know  its  real  name, 
but  the  White  Hussars  call  it,  '  Take  me  to  London 
again.'  It  sounds  very  pretty.  The  Regiment  would 
sooner  be  struck  off  the  roster  than  forego  the  it 
distinction. 

After  the  'dismiss'  was  sounded,  the  officers  rode 
off  home  to  prepare  for  stables  ;  and  the  men  filed 
into  the  lines  riding  easy.  That  is  to  say,  they  opened 
their  tight  buttons,  shifted  their  helmets,  and  began  to 
joke  or  to  swear  as  the  humour  took  them ;  the  more 
careful  slipping  off  and  easing  girths  and  curbs.  A 
good  trooper  values  his  mount  exactly  as  much  as  he 
values  himself,  and  believes,  or  should  believe,  that  the 
tvro  together  are  irresistible  where  women  or  men,  girls 
or  guns,  are  concerned. 

Then  the  Orderly-Officer  gave  the  order,  'Water 
horses,'  and  the  Regiment  loafed  off  to  the  scuiadron- 


234          PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

troughs  which  were  in  rear  of  the  stables  and  between 
these  and  the  barracks.  There  were  four  huge  troughs, 
one  for  each  squadron,  arranged  en  echelon,  so  that 
the  whole  Regiment  could  water  in  ten  minutes  if  it 
liked.  But  it  lingered  for  seventeen,  as  a  rule,  while 
the  Band  played. 

The  Band  struck  up  as  the  squadrons  filed  off  to  the 
troughs,  and  the  men  slipped  their  feet  out  of  the 
stirrups  and  chaffed  each  other.  The  sun  was  just 
setting  in  a  big,  hot  bed  of  red  cloud,  and  the  road  to 
the  Civil  Lines  seemed  to  run  straight  into  the  sun's 
eye.  There  was  a  little  dot  on  the  road.  It  grew  and 
grew  till  it  showed  as  a  horse,  with  a  sort  of  gridiron 
thing  on  his  back.  The  red  cloud  glared  through  the 
bars  of  the  gridiron.  Some  of  the  troopers  shaded 
their  eyes  with  their  hands  and  said  —  <•  What  the 
mischief  'as  that  there  'orse  got  on  'im?' 

In  another  minute  they  heard  a  neigh  that  every 
soul  —  horse  and  man  —  in  the  Regiment  knew,  and 
saw,  heading  straight  towards  the  Band,  the  dead  Drum- 
Horse  of  the  White  Hussars  ! 

On  his  withers  banged  and  bumped  the  kettle-drums 
draped  in  crape,  and  on  his  back,  very  stiff  and 
soldierly,  sat  a  bareheaded  skeleton. 

The  Band  stopped  playing,  and,  for  a  moment,  there 
was  a  hush. 

Then  some  one  in  E  Troop  '• —  men  said  it  was  the 
Troop-Sergeant-Major  —  swung  his  horse  round  and 
yelled.  JSo  one  can  account  exactly  for  what  happened 
afterwards  ;  but  it  seems  that,  at  least,  one  man  in 
each  troop  set  an  example  of  panic,  and  the  rest 
followed  like  sheep.  The  horses  that  had  barely  put 
their  muzzles  into  the  troughs  reared  and  capered  ;  but 


THE  ROUT  OF  THE  WHITE  HUSSAKS        235 

as  soon  as  the  Band  broke,  which  it  did  when  the 
ghost  of  the  Drum-Horse  was  about  a  furlong  distant, 
all  hooves  followed  suit,  and  the  clatter  of  the  stampede 
—  quite  different  from  the  orderly  throb  and  roar  of  a 
movement  on  parade,  or  the  rough  horse-play  of  water- 
ing in  camp  —  made  them  only  more  terrified.  They 
felt  that  the  men  on  their  backs  were  afraid  of  some- 
thing. When  horses  once  know  that,  all  is  over  except 
the  butchery. 

Troop  after  troop  turned  from  the  troughs  and  ran 
—  anywhere  and  everywhere  —  like  spilt  quicksilver. 
It  was  a  most  extraordinary  spectacle,  for  men  and 
horses  were  in  all  stages  of  easiness,  and  the  carbine- 
buckets  flopping  against  their  sides  urged  the  horses  on. 
Men  were  shouting  and  cursing,  and  trying  to  pull  clear 
of  the  Band  which  was  being  chased  by  the  Drum- 
Horse,  whose  rider  had  fallen  forward  and  seemed  to  be 
spurring  for  a  wager. 

The  Colonel  had  gone  over  to  the  Mess  for  a  drink. 
Most  of  the  oitlcers  were  with  him,  and  the  Subaltern 
of  the  Day  was  preparing  to  go  down  to  the  Lines,  and 
receive  the  watering  reports  from  the  Troop-Sergeant- 
Majors.  When  '  Take  me  to  London  again  '  stopped, 
after  twenty  bars,  every  one  in  the  Mess  said, 
'  What  on  earth  has  happened  ? '  A  minute  later, 
they  heard  umnilitary  noises,  and  saw,  far  across  the 
plain,  the  White  Hussars  scattered,  and  broken,  and 
flying. 

The  Colonel  was  speechless  with  rage,  for  he  thought 
that  tlie  Regiment  had  risen  against  him  or  was 
unanimously  drunk.  The  Band,  a  disorganised  mob, 
tore  past,  ami  at  its  heels  laboured  the  Drum- Horse  — 
the  dead  and  buried  Drum-Horse  —  with  the  jolting. 


236  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

clattering  skeleton.  Hogan-Yale  whispered  softly  to 
Martyn  —  'No  wire  will  stand  that  treatment,'  and  the 
Band,  which  had  doubled  like  a  hare,  came  back  again. 
But  the  rest  of  the  Regiment  was  gone,  was  rioting  all 
over  the  Province,  for  the  dusk  had  shut  in  and  each 
man  was  howling  to  his  neighbour  that  the  Drum- 
Horse  was  on  his  flank.  Troop-horses  are  far  too 
tenderly  treated  as  a  rule.  They  can,  on  emergencies, 
do  a  great  deal,  even  with  seventeen  stone  on  their 
backs.  As  the  troopers  found  out. 

How  long  this  panic  lasted  I  cannot  say.  I  believe 
that  when  the  moon  rose  the  men  saw  they  had.  nothing 
to  fear,  and,  by  twos  and  threes  and  half -troops,  crept 
back  into  Cantonments  very  much  ashamed  of  them- 
selves. Meantime,  the  Drum-Horse,  disgusted  at  his 
treatment  by  old  friends,  pulled  up,  wheeled  round,  and 
trotted  up  to  the  Mess  verandah-steps  for  bread.  No 
one  liked  to  run ;  but  no  one  cared  to  go  forward  till 
the  Colonel  made  a  movement  and  laid  hold  of  the 
skeleton's  foot.  The  Band  had  halted  some  distance 
away,  and  now  came  back  slowly.  The  Colonel  called 
it,  individually  and  collectively,  every  evil  name  that 
occurred  to  him  at  the  time  ;  for  he  had  set  his  hand 
on  the  bosom  of  the  Drum-Horse  and  found  flesh  and 
blood.  Then  he  beat  the  kettle-drurns  with  his  clenched 
fist,  and  discovered  that  they  were  but  made  of  silvered 
paper  and  bamboo.  Next,  still  swearing,  he  tried  to 
drag  the  skeleton  out  of  the  saddle,  but  found  that  it 
had  been  wired  into  the  cantle.  The  sight  of  the 
Colonel,  with  his  arms  round  the  skeleton's  pelvis  and 
his  knee  in  the  old  Drum-Horse's  stomach,  was  strik- 
ing. Not  to  say  amusing.  He  worried  the  thing  off 
in  a  minute  or  two,  and  threw  it  down  on  the  ground. 


THE  ROUT  OF  THE  WHITE  HUSSAES       237 

saying  to  the  Band  — '  Here,  you  curs,  that's  what  you're 
afraid  of.'  The  skeleton  did  not  look  pretty  in  the 
twilight.  The  Band-Sergeant  seemed  to  recognise  it, 
for  he  began  to  chuckle  and  choke.  '  Shall  I  take  it 
away,  sir  ? '  said  the  Band-Sergeant.  '  Yes,'  said  the 
Colonel,  '  take  it  to  Hell,  and  ride  there  yourselves  !  ' 

The  Band-Sergeant  saluted,  hoisted  the  skeleton 
across  his  saddle-bow,  and  led  off  to  the  stables.  Then 
the  Colonel  began  to  make  inquiries  for  the  rest  of  the 
Regiment,  and  the  language  he  used  was  wonderful. 
He  would  disband  the  Regiment  —  he  would  court- 
martial  every  soul  in  it  —  he  would  not  command  such 
a  set  of  rabble,  and  so  on,  and  so  on.  As  the  men 
dropped  in,  his  language  grew  wilder,  until  at  last  it 
exceeded  the  utmost  limits  of  free  speech  allowed  even 
to  a  Colonel  of  Horse. 

Martyn  took  Hogan-Yale  aside  and  suggested  com- 
pulsory retirement  from  the  Service  as  a  necessity 
when  all  was  discovered.  Martyn  was  the  weaker  man 
of  the  two.  Hogan-Yale  put  up  his  eyebrows  and 
remarked,  firstly,  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  Lord,  and, 
secondly,  that  he  was  as  innocent  as  the  babe  unborn 
of  the  theatrical  resurrection  of  the  Drum-Horse. 

'  My  instructions,'  said  Yale,  with  a  singularly  sweet 
smile,  '  were  that  the  Drum-Horse  should  be  sent  back 
as  impressively  as  possible.  I  ask  you,  am  I  respon- 
sible if  a  mule-headed  friend  sends  him  back  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  disturb  the  peace  of  mind  of  a  regiment 
of  Her  Majesty's  Cavalry  ?  ' 

Martyn  said,  '  You  are  a  great  man,  and  will  in  time 
become  a  General;  but  I'd  give  my  chance  of  a  troop 
to  be  safe  out  of  this  affair.' 

Providence    saved    Martyn  and    Hogan-Yale.      The 


238  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

Second-in-Command  led  the  Colonel  away  to  the  little 
curtained  alcove  wherein  the  Subalterns  of  the  White 
Hussars  were  accustomed  to  play  poker  of  nights ;  and 
there,  after  many  oaths  on  the  Colonel's  part,  they 
talked  together  in  low  tones.  I  fancy  that  the  Second- 
in-Command  must  have  represented  the  scare  as  the 
work  of  some  trooper  whom  it  would  be  hopeless  to 
detect ;  and  I  know  that  he  dwelt  upon  the  sin  and 
the  shame  of  making  a  public  laughing-stock  of  the 
scare. 

4  They  will  call  us,'  said  the  Second-in-Command, 
who  had  a  fine  imagination  —  'they  will  call  us  the 
"  Fly-by-Nights  " ;  they  will  call  us  the  "  Ghost  Hunt- 
ers " ;  they  will  nickname  us  from  one  end  of  the 
Army  List  to  the  other.  All  the  explanation  in  the 
world  won't  make  outsiders  understand  that  the  officers 
were  away  when  the  panic  began.  For  the  honour  of 
the  Regiment  and  for  your  own  sake  keep  this  thing 
quiet.' 

The  Colonel  was  so  exhausted  with  'anger  that  sooth- 
ing him  down  came  easier  than  might  be  imagined. 
He  was  made  to  see,  gently  and  by  degrees,  that  it 
was  obviously  impossible  to  court-martial  the  whole 
Regiment,  and  equally  impossible  to  proceed  against 
any  subaltern  who,  in  his  belief,  had  any  concern  in 
the  hoax. 

'  But  the  beast's  alive  !  He's  never  been  shot  at 
all  !  '  shouted  the  Colonel.  '  It's  flat  flagrant  diso- 
bedience !  I've  known  a  man  broke  for  less  —  dam 
sight  less.  They're  mocking  me,  I  tell  you,  Mutman  J 
They're  mocking  me  ! ' 

Once  more,  the  Second-in-Command  set  himself  to 
soothe  the  Colonel,  and  wrestled  with  him  for  half  aa 


THE  ROUT  OF  THE  WHITE  HUSSARS  239 

hour.  At  the  end  of  that  time,  the  Regimental 
Sergeant-Major  reported  himself.  The  situation  was 
rather  novel  to  him  ;  but  he  was  not  a  man  to  be 
put  out  by  circumstances.  He  saluted  and  said, 
'Regiment  all  come  back,  Sir.'  Then,  to  propitiate  the 
Colonel  —  'An'  none  of  the  'orses  any  the  worse,  Sir.' 

The  Colonel  only  snorted  and  answered  — '  You'd 
better  tuck  the  men  into  their  cots,  then,  and  see  that 
they  don't  wake  up  and  cry  in  the  night.'  The  Ser- 
geant withdrew. 

His  little  stroke  of  humour  pleased  the  Colonel,  and, 
further,  he  felt  slightly  ashamed  of  the  language  he  had 
been  using.  The  Second-in-Command  worried  him 
again,  and  the  two  sat  talking  far  into  the  night. 

Next  day  but  one,  there  was  a  Commanding  Officer's 
parade,  and  the  Colonel  harangued  the  White  Hussars 
vigorously.  The  pith  of  his  speech  was  that,  since 
the  Drum-Horse  in  his  old  age  had  proved  himself 
capable  of  cutting  up  the  whole  Regiment,  lie  should 
return  to  his  post  of  pride  at  the  head  of  the  Band, 
but  the  Regiment  were  a  set  of  ruffians  with  bad 
consciences. 

The  White  Hussars  shouted,  and  threw  everything 
movable  about  them  into  the  air,  and  when  the  parade 
was  over,  they  cheered  the  Colonel  till  they  couldn't 
speak.  No  cheers  were  put  up  for  Lieutenant 
Hogau-Yale,  who  smiled  very  sweetly  in  the  back- 
ground. 

Said  the  Second-in-Command  to  the  Colonel,  unoffi- 
cially - 

"These,  little  tilings  ensure  popularity,  and  do  not 
the  least  affect  discipline.' 

4  But  I  went  back  on  my  word,'  said  the  Colonel. 


240  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  TTTT.Tfl 

*  Never  mind,'  said  the  Second-in-Command.     '  The 
White  Hussars  will  follow  you  anywhere  from  to-day. 
Regiments  are  just  like  women.    They  will  do  anything 
for  trinketry.' 

A  week  later,  Hogan-Yale  received  an  extraordinary 
letter  from  some  one  who  signed  himself  'Secretary, 
Charity  and  Zeal,  3709,  E.  C.,'  and  asked  for  'the  return 
of  our  skeleton  which  we  have  reason  to  believe  is  in 
your  possession.' 

'  Who  the  deuce  is  this  lunatic  who  trades  in  bones  ?  ' 
said  Hogan-Yale. 

'  Beg  your  pardon,  Sir,'  said  the  Band-Sergeant, 
'  but  the  skeleton  is  with  me,  an'  I'll  return  it  if  you'll 
pay  the  carriage  into  the  Civil  Lines.  There's  a  coffin 
with  it,  Sir.' 

Hogan-Yale  smiled  and  handed  two  rupees  to  the 
Band-Sergeant,  saying,  '  Write  the  date  on  the  skull, 
will  you  ? ' 

If  you  doubt  this  story,  and  know  where  to  go,  you 
can  see  the  date  on  the  skeleton.  But  don't  mention 
the  matter  to  the  White  Hussars. 

I  happen  to  know  something  about  it,  because  I  pre- 
pared the  Drum-Horse  for  his  resurrection.  He  did 
not  take  kindly  to  the  skeleton  at  all. 


THE  BRONCKHORST  DIVORCE-CASE 

In  the  daytime,  when  she  moved  about  me, 

In  the  night,  when  she  was  sleeping  at  my  side,  — 
I  was  wearied,  I  was  wearied  of  her  presence, 
Day  by  day  and  night  by  night  I  grew  to  hate  her  — 
Would  God  that  she  or  I  had  died  ! 

— Co  nfessions. 

THERE  was  a  man  called  Bronckhorst  — a  three-cornered, 
middle-aged  man  in  the  Army  —  gray  as  a  badger,  and, 
some  people  said,  with  a  touch  of  country -blood  in  him. 
That,  however,  cannot  be  proved.  Mrs.  Bronckhorst 
was  not  exactly  young,  though  fifteen  years  younger 
than  her  husband.  She  was  a  large,  pale,  quiet  woman, 
with  heavy  eyelids  over  weak  eyes,  and  hair  that  turned 
red  or  yellow  as  the  lights  fell  on  it. 

Bronckhorst  was  not  nice  in  any  way.  He  had  no 
respect  for  the  pretty  public  and  private  lies  that  make 
life  a  little  less  nasty  than  it  is.  His  manner  towards 
his  wife  was  coarse.  There  are  many  things  — including 
actual  assault  with  the  clenched  fist  —  that  a  wife  will 
endure  ;  but  seldom  a  wife  can  bear  —  as  Mrs.  Bronck- 
horst bore  —  with  a  long  course  of  brutal,  hard  chaff, 
making  light  of  her  weaknesses,  her  headaches,  her 
small  fits  of  gaiety,  her  dresses,  her  queer  little  attempts 
to  make  herself  attractive  to  her  husband  when  she 
knows  that  she  is  not  what  she  has  been,  and  —  worst 
B  241 


242  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

of  all  —  the  love  that  she  spends  on  her  children.  That 
particular  sort  of  heavy-handed  jest  was  specially  dear 
to  Bronckhorst.  I  suppose  that  he  had  first  slipped 
into  it,  meaning  no  harm,  in  the  honeymoon,  when  folk 
find  their  ordinary  stock  of  endearments  run  short,  and 
so  go  to  the  other  extreme  to  express  their  feelings. 
A  similar  impulse  makes  a  man  say,  '  Hutt,  you  old 
beast ! '  when  a  favourite  horse  nuzzles  his  coat-front. 
Unluckily,  when  the  reaction  of  marriage  sets  in,  the 
form  of  speech  remains,  and,  the  tenderness  having 
died  out,  hurts  the  wife  more  than  she  cares  to  say. 
But  Mrs.  Bronckhorst  was  devoted  to  her  '  Teddy '  as 
she  called  him.  Perhaps  that  was  why  he  objected  to 
her.  Perhaps  —  this  is  only  a  theory  to  account  for 
his  infamous  behaviour  later  on  —  he  gave  way  to  the 
queer,  savage  feeling  that  sometimes  takes  by  the  throat 
a  husband  twenty  years  married,  when  he  sees,  across 
the  table,  the  same  same  face  of  his  wedded  wife, 
and  knows  that,  as  he  has  sat  facing  it,  so  must  he 
continue  to  sit  until  the  day  of  its  death  or  his  own. 
Most  men  and  all  women  know  the  spasm.  It  only 
lasts  for  three  breaths  as  a  rule,  must  be  a  '  throw- 
back '  to  times  when  men  and  women  were  rather 
worse  than  the}'  are  now,  and  is  too  unpleasant  to 
be  discussed. 

Dinner  at  the  Bronckhorsts'  was  an  infliction  few 
men  cared  to  undergo.  Bronckhorst  took  a  pleasure 
in  saying  things  that  made  his  wife  wince.  When 
their  little  boy  came  in  at  dessert,  Bronckhorst  used  to 
give  him  half  a  glass  of  wine,  and  naturally  enough, 
the  poor  little  mite  got  first  riotous,  next  miserable, 
and  was  removed  screaming.  Bronckhorst  asked  if 
that  was  the  way  Teddy  usually  behaved,  and  whether 


THE  BRONCKHORST  DIVORCE-CASE  243 

Mrs.  Bronckhorst  could  not  spare  some  of  her  time  '  to 
teach  the  little  beggar  decency.'  Mrs.  Bronckhorst, 
who  loved  the  boy  more  than  her  own  life,  tried  not 
to  cry  —  her  spirit  seemed  to  have  been  broken  by  her 
marriage.  Lastly,  Bronckhorst  used  to  say,  'There  ! 
That'll  do,  that'll  do.  For  God's  sake  try  to  behave 
like  a  rational  woman.  Go  into  the  drawing-room.' 
Mrs.  Bronckhorst  would  go,  trying  to  carry  it  all  off 
with  a  smile ;  and  the  guest  of  the  evening  would  feel 
angry  and  uncomfortable. 

After  three  years  of  this  cheerful  life  —  for  Mrs. 
Bronckhorst  had  no  women-friends  to  talk  to — the 
Station  was  startled  by  the  news  that  Bronckhorst  had 
instituted  proceedings  on  the  criminal  count,  against  a 
man  called  Biel,  who  certainly  had  been  rather  attentive 
to  Mrs.  Bronckhorst  whenever  she  had  appeared  in 
public.  The  utter  want  of  reserve  with  which  Bronck- 
horst treated  his  own  dishonour  helped  us  to  know 
that  the  evidence  against  Biel  would  be  entirely  cir- 
cumstantial and  native.  There  were  no  letters  ;  but 
Bronckhorst  said  openly  that  he  would  rack  Heaven 
and  Earth  until  he  saw  Biel  superintending  the  manu- 
facture of  carpets  in  the  Central  Jail.  Mrs.  Bronck- 
horst kept  entirely  to  her  house,  and  let  charitable 
folks  say  what  they  pleased.  Opinions  were  divided. 
Some  two-thirds  of  the  Station  jumped  at  once  to 
the  conclusion  that  Biel  was  guilty;  but  a  dozen  men 
who  knew  and  liked  him  held  by  him.  Biel  was 
furious  and  surprised,  lie  denied  the  whole  thing, 
and  vowed  that  lie  would  thrash  Bronckhorst  within 
an  inch  of  his  life.  No  jury,  we  knew,  would  couvi.-! 
a  man  on  the  criminal  count  on  native  evidence  in 
u  land  where  you  can  buy  a  murder-charge,  including 


244  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

the  corpse,  all  complete  for  fifty -four  rupees ;  but  Biel 
did  not  care  to  scrape  through  by  the  benefit  of  a 
doubt.  He  wanted  the  whole  thing  cleared ;  but,  as 
he  said  one  night  — '  He  can  prove  anything  with 
servants'  evidence,  and  I've  only  my  bare  word.'  This 
was  almost  a  month  before  the  case  came  on;  and 
beyond  agreeing  with  Biel,  we  could  do  little.  All 
that  we  could  be  sure  of  was  that  the  native  evidence 
would  be  bad  enough  to  blast  Biel's  character  for  the 
rest  of  his  service;  for  when  a  native  begins  perjury 
he  perjures  himself  thoroughly.  He  does  not  boggle 
over  details. 

Some  genius  at  the  end  of  the  table  whereat  the 
affair  was  being  talked  over,  said,  '  Look  here  !  I 
don't  believe  lawyers  are  any  good.  Get  a  man  to  wire 
to  Strickland,  and  beg  him  to  come  down  and  pull  us 
through.' 

Strickland  was  about  a  hundred  and  eighty  miles 
up  the  line.  He  had  not  long  been  married  to  Miss 
Youghal,  but  he  scented  in  the  telegram  a  chance  of 
return  to  the  old  detective  work  that  his  soul  lusted 
after,  and  next  night  he  came  in  and  heard  our  story. 
He  finished  his  pipe  and  said  oracularly,  '  We  must 
get  at  the  evidence.  Oorya  bearer,  Mussulman  Jchit 
and  sweeper  ayah,  I  suppose,  are  the  pillars  of  the 
charge.  I  am  on  in  this  piece ;  but  I'm  afraid  I'm 
getting  rusty  in  my  talk.' 

He  rose  and  went  into  Biel's  bedroom,  where  his 
trunk  had  been  put,  and  shut  the  door.  An  hour 
later,  we  heard  him  say,  '  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  part 
with  my  old  make-ups  when  I  married.  Will  this 
do  ?  '  There  was  a  lothely  faquir  salaaming  in  the 
doorway. 


THE  BRONCKHORST  DIVORCE-CASE  245 

'Now  lend  me  fifty  rupees,'  said  Strickland,  'and 
give  me  your  Words  of  Honour  that  you  won't  tell  my 
wife.' 

He  got  all  that  he  asked  for,  and  left  the  house 
while  the  table  drank  his  health.  What  he  did  only 
he  himself  knows.  A  faquir  hung  about  Bronck- 
horst's  compound  for  twelve  days.  Then  a  sweeper 
appeared,  and  when  Biel  heard  of  him,  he  said  that 
Strickland  was  an  angel  full-fledged.  Whether  the 
sweeper  made  love  to  Janki,  Mrs.  Bronckhorst's 
ayah,  is  a  question  which  concerns  Strickland  exclu- 
sively. 

He  came  back  at  the  end  of  three  weeks,  and  said 
quietly,  '  You  spoke  the  truth,  Biel.  The  whole  busi- 
ness is  put  up  from  beginning  to  end.  'Jove !  It 
almost  astonishes  me  !  That  Bronckhorst-beast  isn't  fit 
to  live.' 

There  was  uproar  and  shouting,  and  Biel  said, 
'How  are  you  going  to  prove  it?  You  can't  say  that 
you've  been  trespassing  on  Bronckhorst's  compound  in 
disguise ! ' 

'  No,'  said  Strickland.  '  Tell  your  lawyer-fool,  who- 
ever he  is,  to  get  up  something  strong  about  "  inherent 
improbabilities"  and  "discrepancies  of  evidence."  He 
won't  have  to  speak,  but  it  will  make  him  happy.  Tm 
going  to  run  this  business.' 

Biel  held  his  tongue,  and  the  other  men  waited  to 
see  what  would  happen.  They  trusted  Strickland  as 
men  trust  quiet  men.  When  the  case  came  off  the 
Court  was  crowded.  Strickland  hung  about  in  the 
verandah  of  the  Court,  till  he  met  the  Mohammedan 
Tchitmatgar.  Then  he  murmured  u  faquir's  blessing  in 
his  ear,  and  asked  him  how  his  second  wife  did.  The 


PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

man  spun  round,  and,  as  lie  looked  into  the  eyes  of 
4  Estreeken  Sahib,"1  his  jaw  dropped.  You  must  re- 
member that  before  Strickland  was  married,  he  was,  as 
I  have  told  you  already,  a  power  among  natives. 
Strickland  whispered  a  rather  coarse  vernacular  pro- 
verb to  the  effect  that  he  was  abreast  of  all  that  was 
going  on  and  went  into  the  Court  armed  with  a  gut 
trainer's-whip. 

The  Mohammedan  was  the  first  witness  and  Strick- 
land beamed  upon  him  from  the  back  of  the  Court. 
The  man  moistened  his  lips  with  his  tongue  and, 
in  his  abject  fear  of  '  Estreeken  Sahib '  the  faquir, 
went  back  on  every  detail  of  his  evidence  —  said  that 
he  was  a  poor  man  and  God  was  his  witness 
that  he  had  forgotten  everything  that  Bronckhorst 
Sahib  had  told  him  to  say.  Between  his  terror  of 
Strickland,  the  Judge,  and  Bronckhorst,  he  collapsed 
weeping. 

Then  began  the  panic  among  the  witnesses.  Janki, 
the  ayah,  leering  chastely  behind  her  veil,  turned  gray, 
and  the  bearer  left  the  Court.  He  said  that  his 
Mamma  was  dying  and  that  it  was  not  wholesome 
for  any  man  to  lie  unthriftily  in  the  presence  of 
'Estreeken  Sahib.'' 

Biel  said  politely  to  Bronckhorst,  4  Your  witnesses 
don't  seem  to  work.  Haven't  you  any  forged  letters 
to  produce  ?  '  But  Bronckhorst  was  swaying  to  and 
fro  in  his  chair,  and  there  was  a  dead  pause  after  Biel 
had  been  called  to  order. 

Bronckhorst's  Counsel  saw  the  look  on  his  client's 
face,  and  without  more  ado,  pitched  his  papers  on  the 
little  green  baize  table,  and  mumbled  something  about 
having  been  misinformed.  The  whole  court  applauded 


THE  BRONCKHORST  DIVORCE-CASE  247 

wildly,  like  soldiers  at  a  theatre,  and  the  Judge  began 
to  say  what  he  thought. 


Biel  came  out  of  the  Court,  and  Strickland  dropped 
a  gut  trainer's-whip  in  the  verandah.  Ten  minutes 
later,  Biel  was  cutting  Bronckhorst  into  ribbons  behind 
the  old  Court  cells,  quietly  and  without  scandal.  What 
was  left  of  Bronckhorst  was  sent  home  in  a  carriage ; 
and  his  wife  wept  over  it  and  nursed  it  into  a  man 
again. 

Later  on,  after  Biel  had  managed  to  hush  up  the 
counter-charge  against  Bronckhorst  of  fabricating  false 
evidence,  Mrs.  Bronckhorst,  with  her  faint  watery  sriile, 
said  that  there  had  been  a  mistake,  but  it  wasn't  her 
Teddy's  fault  altogether.  She  would  wait  till  hei 
Teddy  came  back  to  her.  Perhaps  he  had  grown  tired 
of  her,  or  she  had  tried  his  patience  and  perhaps  we 
wouldn't  cut  her  any  more,  and  perhaps  the  mothers 
would  let  their  children  play  with  'little  Teddy'  again. 
lie  was  so  lonely.  Then  the  Station  invited  Mrs. 
Bronckhorst  everywhere,  until  Bronckhorst  was  fit  to 
appear  in  public,  when  he  went  Home  and  took  his 
wife  with  him.  According  to  the  latest  advices,  her 
Teddy  did  come  back  to  her,  and  they  are  moderately 
happy.  Though,  of  course,  he  can  never  forgive  her 
the  thrashing  that  she  was  the  indirect  means  of 
getting  for  him. 


What  Biel  wants  to  know  is,  "Why  didn't  I  press 
home  the  charge  against  the  Bronckhorst-brute,  and 
have  him  run  in?  ' 


248  PLAIN  TALES  FEOM  THE  HILLS 

What  Mrs.  Strickland  wants  to  know  is,  '  How  did 
my  husband  bring  such  a  lovely,  lovely  Waler  from 
your  Station  ?  I  know  all  his  money-affairs ;  and  I'm 
certain  he  didn't  buy  it.' 

What  I  want  to  know  is,  '  How  do  women  like 
Mrs.  Bronckhorst  come  to  marry  men  like  Bronck- 
horst?' 

And  my  conundrum  is  the  most  unanswerable  of 
the  three. 


VENUS   ANNODOMINI 

And  the  years  went  on,  as  the  years  must  do ; 
But  our  great  Diana  was  always  new  — 
Fresh,  and  blooming,  and  blonde,  and  fair, 
With  azure  eyes  and  with  aureate  hair ; 
And  all  the  folk,  as  they  came  or  went, 
Offered  her  praise  to  her  heart's  content. 

—  Diana  of  Ephesus. 

SHP:  had  nothing  to  do  with  Number  Eighteen  in  the 
Braccio  Nuovo  of  the  Vatican,  between  Visconti's  Ceres 
and  the  God  of  the  Nile.  She  was  purely  an  Indian 
deity  —  an  Anglo-Indian  deit}r,  that  is  to  say —  and  we 
called  her  the  Venus  Annodomini,  to  distinguish  her 
from  other  Annodominis  of  the  same  everlasting  order. 
There  was  a  legend  among  the  Hills  that  she  had 
once  been  young;  but  no  living  man  was  prepared  to 
come  forward  and  say  boldly  that  the  legend  was  true. 
Men  rode  up  to  Simla,  and  stayed,  and  went  away  and 
made  their  name  and  did  their  life's  work,  and  returned 
again  to  find  the  Venus  Annodomini  exactly  as  they 
had  left  her.  She  was  as  immutable  as  the  Hills. 
]>ut  not  quite  so  green.  All  that  a  girl  of  eighteen 
could  do  in  the  way  of  riding,  walking,  dancing, 
picnicking  and  over-exertion  generally,  the  Venus 
Annodomini  did,  and  showed  no  sign  of  fatigue  or 
trace  of  weariness.  Besides  perpetual  youth,  she  had 

249 


250  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

discovered,  men  said,  the  secret  of  perpetual  health; 
and  her  fame  spread  about  the  land.  From  a  mere 
woman,  she  grew  to  be  an  Institution,  insomuch  that 
no  young  man  could  be  said  to  be  properly  formed, 
who  had  not,  at  some  time  or  another,  worshipped  at 
the  shrine  of  the  Venus  Annodomini.  There  was  no 
one  like  her,  though  there  were  many  imitations.  Six 
years  in  her  eyes  were  no  more  than  six  months  to 
ordinary  women ;  and  ten  made  less  visible  impression 
on  her  than  does  a  week's  fever  on  an  ordinary  woman. 
Every  one  adored  her,  and  in  return  she  was  pleasant 
and  courteous  to  nearly  every  one.  Youth  had  been 
a  habit  of  hers  for  so  long,  that  she  could  not  part  with 
it  —  never  realised,  in  fact,  the  necessity  of  parting 
with  it  —  and  took  for  her  more  chosen  associates  young 
people. 

Among  the  worshippers  of  the  Venus  Annodomini 
was  young  Gayerson.  '  Very  Young  Gayerson  '  he 
was  called  to  distinguish  him  from  his  father  '  Young ' 
Gayerson,  a  Bengal  Civilian,  who  affected  the  customs 
—  as  he  had  the  heart  —  of  youth.  '  Very  Young  ' 
Gayerson  was  not  content  to  worship  placidly  and  for 
form's  sake,  as  the  other  young  men  did,  or  to  accept 
a  ride  or  a  dance,  or  a  talk  from  the  Venus  Anno- 
domini in  a  properly  humble  and  thankful  spirit.  He 
was  exacting,  and,  therefore,  the  Venus  Annodomini 
repressed  him.  He  worried  himself  nearly  sick  in  a 
futile  sort  of  way  over  her ;  and  his  devotion  and 
earnestness  made  him  appear  either  shy  or  boisterous 
or  rude,  as  his  mood  might  vary,  by  the  side  of  the 
older  men  who,  with  him,  bowed  before  the  Venus 
Annodomini.  She  was  sorry  for  him.  He  reminded 
her  of  a  lad  who,  three-and-twenty  years  ago,  had 


VENUS  ANNODOMINI  251 

professed  a  boundless  devotion  for  her,  and  for  whom 
in  return  she  had  felt  something  more  than  a  week's 
weakness.  But  that  lad  had  fallen  away  and  married 
another  woman  less  than  a  year  after  he  had  wor- 
shipped her ;  and  the  Venus  Annodomini  had  almost 

—  not  quite  —  forgotten  his  name.  '  Very  Young ' 
Gayerson  had  the  same  big  blue  eyes  and  the  same 
way  of  pouting  his  underlip  when  he  was  excited  or 
troubled.  But  the  Venus  Annodomini  checked  him 
sternly  none  the  less.  Too  much  zeal  was  a  thing  that 
she  did  not  approve  of ;  preferring  instead  a  tempered 
and  sober  tenderness. 

'  Very  Young '  Gayerson  was  miserable,  and  took 
no  trouble  to  conceal  his  wretchedness.  He  was  in 
the  Army  —  a  Line  regiment  I  think,  but  am  not 
certain — and,  since  his  face  was  a  looking-glass  and 
his  forehead  an  open  book,  by  reason  of  his  innocence, 
his  brothers-in-arms  made  his  life  a  burden  to  him 
and  embittered  his  naturally  sweet  disposition.  No 
one  except  '  Very  Young  '  Gayerson,  and  he  never  told 
his  views,  knew  how  old  '  Very  Young '  Gayerson 
believed  the  Venus  Annodomini  to  be.  Perhaps  he 
thought  her  five-and-twenty,  or  perhaps  she  told  him 
that  she  was  this  age.  '  Very  Young  '  Gayerson  would 
have  forded  the  Indus  in  Hood  to  carry  her  lightest 
word,  and  had  implicit  faith  in  her.  Kvery  one  liked 
lain,  and  every  one  was  sorry  when  they  saw  him  so 
bound  a  slave  of  the  Venus  Annodomini.  Every  one, 
loo,  admitted  that  it,  \vas  not  her  i'.iulr  :  for  the  Venus 
Annodomini  dil'foivd  from  Airs.  Hauk.-v.Kv  and  Mrs. 

Reiver  in  this  particular  —  she  never  mov -d  a  linger 
to  attract  anyone:  but,  like  Ninon  d.-  I/Knclos,  all 
men  were  attracted  to  her.  One  could  admire  and 


252  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

respect  Mrs.  Hauksbee,  despise  and  avoid  Mrs. 
Reiver,  but  one  was  forced  to  adore  the  Venus  Anno- 
domini. 

'  Very  Young '  Gayerson's  papa  held  a  Division  or 
a  Collectorate  or  something  administrative  in  a  parti- 
cularly unpleasant  part  of  Bengal  —  full  of  Babus  who 
edited  newspapers  proving  that  '  Young '  Gayerson 
was  a  '  Nero '  and  a  '  Scylla  '  and  a  '  Charybdis  ' ;  and, 
in  addition  to  the  Babus,  there  was  a  good  deal  of 
dysentery  and  cholera  abroad  for  nine  months  of  the 
year.  '  Young '  Gayerson  —  he  was  about  five-ancl-f orty 
—  rather  liked  Babus,  they  amused  him,  but  he  ob- 
jected to  dysentery,  and  when  he  could  get  away, 
went  to  Darjiling  for  the  most  part.  This  particular 
season  he  fancied  that  he  would  come  up  to  Simla  and 
see  his  boy.  The  boy  was  not  altogether  pleased.  He 
told  the  Venus  Annodomini  that  his  father  was  coming 
up,  and  she  flushed  a  little  and  said  that  she  should 
be  delighted  to  make  his  acquaintance.  Then  she 
looked  long  and  thoughtfully  at  '  Very  Young  '  Gayer- 
son,  because  she  was  very,  very  sorry  for  him,  and  he 
was  a  very,  very  big  idiot. 

'  My  daughter  is  coming  out  in  a  fortnight,  Mr. 
Gayerson,'  she  said. 

'  Your  what  ?  '  said  he. 

'  Daughter,'  said  the  Venus  Annodomini.  '  She's 
been  out  for  a  year  at  Home  already,  and  I  want  her 
to  see  a  little  of  India.  She  is  nineteen  and  a  very 
sensible  nice  girl  I  believe.1 

'  Very  Young  '  Gayerson,  who  was  a  short  twenty- 
two  years  old,  nearly  fell  out  of  his  chair  with  astonish- 
ment ;  for  he  had  persisted  in  believing,  against  all 
belief,  in  the  youth  of  the  Venus  Annodomini.  She, 


VENUS  ANNODOMINI  253 

with  her  back  in  the  curtained  window,  watched  the 
effect  of  her  sentences  and  smiled. 

'  Yery  Young '  Gayerson's  papa  came  up  twelve 
days  later,  and  had  not  been  in  Simla  four-and-twenty 
hours  before  two  men,  old  acquaintances  of  his,  had  told 
him  how  '  Very  Young '  Gayerson  had  been  conducting 
himself. 

'  Young '  Gayerson  laughed  a  good  deal,  and  inquired 
who  the  Venus  Annodomini  might  be.  Which  proves 
that  he  had  been  living  in  Bengal,  where  nobody  knows 
anything  except  the  rate  of  Exchange.  Then  he  said 
boys  will  be  boys,  and  spoke  to  his  son  about  the 
matter.  '  Very  Young '  Gayerson  said  that  he  felt 
wretched  and  unhappy ;  and  '  Young '  Gayerson  said 
that  he  repented  of  having  helped  to  bring  a  fool  into 
the  world.  He  suggested  that  his  son  had  better  cut 
his  leave  short  and  go  down  to  his  duties.  This  led  to 
an  unfilial  answer,  and  relations  were  strained,  until 
4  Young '  Gayerson  demanded  that  they  should  call  on 
the  Venus  Annodomini.  '  Very  Young'  Gayerson  went 
with  his  papa,  feeling,  somehow,  uncomfortable  and  small. 

The  Venus  Annodomini  received  them  graciously 
and  '  Young  '  Gayerson  said,  '  By  Jove  !  It's  Kitty  ! ' 
4  Very  Young  '  Gayerson  would  have  listened  for  an 
explanation,  if  his  time  had  not  been  taken  up  with 
trying  to  talk  to  a  large,  handsome,  quiet,  well-dressed 
girl  —  introduced  to  him  by  the  Venus  Annodomini  as 
her  daughter.  She  was  far  older  in  manner,  style,  and 
repose  than  'Very  Young'  Gayerson;  and,  as  he 
realised  this  thing,  he  felt  sick. 

Presently,  he  heard  the  Venus  Annodomini  saying, 
'Do  you  know  that  your  son  is  one  of  my  most 
devoted  admirers'/' 


254  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

'  I  don't  wonder,'  said  '  Young '  Gayerson.  Here  he 
raised  his  voice,  '  He  follows  his  father's  footsteps. 
Didn't  I  worship  the  ground  you  trod  on,  ever  so  long 
ago,  Kitty — and  you  haven't  changed  since  then.  How 
strange  it  all  seems  ! ' 

4  Very   Young '   Gayerson   said   nothing.     His   con 
versation  with  the  daughter  of  the  Venus  Annodomini 
was,  through   the   rest   of   the   call,  fragmentary  and 
disjointed. 

'At  five  to-morrow,  then,'  said  the  Venus  Anno- 
domini. '  Arid  mind  you  are  punctual.' 

'  At  five  punctually,'  said  '  Young  '  Gayerson.  '  You 
can  lend  your  old  father  a  horse  I  dare  say,  youngster, 
can't  you?  I'm  going  for  a  ride  to-morrow  afternoon.' 

'  Certainly,'  said  '  Very  Young '  Gayerson.  '  I  am 
going  down  to-morrow  morning.  My  ponies  are  at 
your  service,  Sir.' 

The  Venus  Annodomini  looked  at  him  across  the 
half-light  of  the  room,  and  her  big  gray  eyes  filled  with 
moisture.  She  rose  and  shook  hands  with  him. 

4  Good-bye,  Tom,'  whispered  the  Venus  Annodomini, 


Little  Blind  Fish,  thou  art  marvellous  wise, 
Little  Blind  Fish,  who  put  out  thy  eyes  ? 
Open  thy  ears  while  I  whisper  iny  wish  — 
Bring  me  a  lover,  thou  little  Blind  Fish. 

— The  Charm  of  the  Bisara. 

SOME  natives  say  that  it  came  from  the  other  side 
of  Kulu,  where  the  eleven-inch  Temple  Sapphire  is. 
Others  that  it  was  made  at  the  Devil-Shrine  of  Ao- 
Chung  in  Thibet,  was  stolen  by  a  Kafir,  from  him  by  a 
Gurkha,  from  him  again  by  a  Lahouli,  from  him  by 
a  Wiitmatgar,  and  by  this  latter  sold  to  an  Englishman, 
so  all  its  virtue  was  lost ;  because,  to  work  properly, 
the  Bisara  of  Pooree  must  be  stolen  —  with  bloodshed 
if  possible,  but,  at  any  rate,  stolen. 

These  stories  of  the  coming  into  India  are  all  false. 
It  was  made  at  Pooree  ages  .since  —  the  manner  of  its 
making  would  fill  a  small  book  —  was  stolen  by  one  of 
the  Temple  dancing-girls  there,  for  her  own  purposes, 
and  then  passed  on  from  hand  to  hand,  steadily  north- 
ward, till  it  reached  Ilanle  ;  always  bearing  the  same 
name  —  the  lUsara  of  Pooree.  In  shape  it  is  a  tiny 
square  box  of  silver,  studded  outside  with  eight  small 
balas-rubies.  Inside  the  box,  which  opens  with  a  spring, 
is  a  little  eyeless  fish,  carved  from  some  sort  of  dark 


256  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

shiny  nut  and  wrapped  in  a  shred  of  faded  gold-cloth. 
That  is  the  Bisara  of  Pooree,  and  it  were  better  for  a 
man  to  take  a  king-cobra  in  his  hand  than  to  touch  the 
Bisara  of  Pooree. 

All  kinds  of  magic  are  out  of  date,  and  done  away 
with  except  in  India,  where  nothing  changes  in  spite  of 
the  shiny,  top-scum  stuff  that  people  call  '  civilisation.' 
Any  man  who  knows  about  the  Bisara  of  Pooree  will 
tell  you  what  its  powers  are  —  always  supposing  that  it 
has  been  honestly  stolen.  It  is  the  only  regularly  work- 
ing, trustworthy  love-charm  in  the  country,  with  one 
exception.  [The  other  charm  is  in  the  hands  of  a 
trooper  of  the  Nizam's  Horse,  at  a  place  called  Tuprani, 
due  north  of  Hyderabad.  ]  This  can  be  depended  upon 
for  a  fact.  Some  one  else  may  explain  it. 

If  the  Bisara  be  not  stolen,  but  given  or  bought  or 
found,  it  turns  against  its  owner  in  three  years,  and 
leads  to  ruin  or  death.  This  is  another  fact  which  you 
may  explain  when  you  have  time.  Meanwhile,  you 
can  laugh  at  it.  At  present,  the  Bisara  is  safe  on  a 
hack-pony's  neck,  inside  the  blue  bead-necklace  that 
keeps  off  the  Evil-Eye.  If  the  pony-driver  ever  finds 
it,  and  wears  it,  or  gives  it  to  his  wife,  I  am  sorry  for 
him. 

A  very  dirty  hill-cooly  woman,  with  goitre,  owned 
it  at  Theog  in  1884.  It  came  into  Simla  from  the 
north  before  Clmrton's  Tchitmatgar  bought  it,  and  sold 
it,  for  three  times  its  silver-value,  to  Churton,  who 
collected  curiosities.  The  servant  knew  no  more  what 
he  had  bought  than  the  master ;  but  a  man  looking 
over  Clmrton's  collection  of  curiosities  —  Churton  was 
an  Assistant  Commissioner,  by  the  way  —  saw  and  held 
his  tongue.  He  was  an  Englishman ;  but  knew  how 


THE  BISARA  OF  POOREE  257 

to  believe.  Which  shows  that  he  was  different  from 
most  Englishmen.  He  knew  that  it  was  dangerous  to 
have  any  share  in  the  little  box  when  working  or 
dormant ;  for  Love  unsought  is  a  terrible  gift. 

Pack  —  'Grubby'  Pack,  as  we  used  to  call  him  — 
was,  in  every  way,  a  nasty  little  man  who  must  have 
crawled  into  the  Army  by  mistake.  He  was  three 
inches  taller  than  his  sword,  but  not  half  so  strong. 
And  the  sword  was  a  fifty-shilling,  tailor-made  one. 
Nobody  liked  him,  and,  I  suppose,  it  was  his  wizened- 
ness  and  worthlessness  that  made  him  fall  so  hope- 
lessly in  love  with  Miss  Hollis,  who  was  good  and 
sweet,  and  five-foot-seven  in  her  tennis-shoes.  He 
was  not  content  with  falling  in  love  quietly,  but 
brought  all  the  strength  of  his  miserable  little  nature 
into  the  business.  If  he  had  not  been  so  objectionable, 
one  might  have  pitied  him.  He  vapoured,  and  fretted, 
and  fumed,  and  trotted  up  and  down,  and  tried  to 
make  himself  pleasing  in  Miss  Hollis'  big,  quiet, 
gray  eyes,  and  failed.  It  was  one  of  the  cases  that 
you  sometimes  meet,  even  in  our  country  where  we 
marry  by  Code,  of  a  really  blind  attachment  all  on 
one  side,  without  the  faintest  possibility  of  return. 
Miss  Hollis  looked  on  Pack  as  some  sort  of  vermin 
running  about  the  road.  He  had  no  prospects  beyond 
Captain's  pay,  and  no  wits  to  help  that  out  by  one 
penny.  In  a  large-sized  man,  love  like  his  would  have 
been  touching.  In  a  good  man,  it  Avould  have  been 
grand.  He  being  what  lie  was,  it  was  only  a  nuisance. 

You  will  believe  this  much.  What  you  will  not 
believe  is  what  follows:  Churton,  and  The  Man  who 
Knew  what  the  Bisara  was,  were  lunching  at  the  Simla 
Club  together.  Churton  was  complaining  of  life  in 


258  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

general.  His  best  mare  had  rolled  out  of  stable  down 
the  cliff  and  had  broken  her  back ;  his  decisions  were 
being  reversed  by  the  upper  Courts  more  than  an 
Assistant  Commissioner  of  eight  years'  standing  has  a 
right  to  expect ;  he  knew  liver  and  fever,  and,  for 
weeks  past,  had  felt  out  of  sorts.  Altogether,  he  was 
disgusted  and  disheartened. 

Simla  Club  dining-room  is  built,  as  all  the  world 
knows,  in  two  sections,  with  an  arch-arrangement 
dividing  them.  Come  in,  turn  to  your  own  left,  take 
the  table  under  the  window,  and  you  cannot  see  any 
one  who  has  come  in,  turned  to  the  right,  and  taken  a 
table  on  the  right  side  of  the  arch.  Curiously  enough, 
ever}^  word  that  you  say  can  be  heard,  not  only  by 
the  other  diner,  but  by  the  servants  beyond  the 
screen  through  which  they  bring  dinner.  This  is  worth 
knowing ;  an  echoing-room  is  a  trap  to  be  forewarned 
against. 

Half  in  fun,  and  half  hoping  to  be  believed,  The 
Man  who  Knew  told  Churton  the  story  of  the  Bisara 
of  Pooree  at  rather  greater  length  than  I  have  told  it 
to  you  in  this  place ;  winding  up  with  a  suggestion 
that  Churton  might  as  well  throw  the  little  box  down 
the  hill  and  see  whether  all  his  troubles  would  go 
with  it.  In  ordinary  ears,  English  ears,  the  tale  was 
only  an  interesting  bit  of  folklore.  Churton  laughed, 
said  that  he  felt  better  for  bis  tiffin,  and  went  out. 
Pack  had  been  tiffining  by  himself  to  the  right  of  the 
arch,  and  had  heard  everything.  He  was  nearly  mad 
with  his  absurd  infatuation  for  Miss  Hollis,  that  all 
Simla  had  been  laughing  about. 

It  is  a  curious  thing  that,  when  a  man  hates  or 
loves  beyond  reason,  he  is  ready  to  go  beyond  reason 


THE  BISARA  OF  POOREE  259 

to  gratify  his  feelings.  Which  he  would  not  do  for 
money  or  power  merely.  Depend  upon  it,  Solomon 
would  .never  have  built  altars  to  Ashtaroth  and  all 
those  ladies  with  queer  names,  if  there  had  not  been 
trouble  of  some  kind  in  his  zenana,  and  nowhere  else. 
But  this  is  beside  the  story.  The  facts  of  the  case  are 
these  :  Pack  called  on  Churton  next  day  when  Churton 
was  out,  left  his  card,  and  stole  the  Bisara  of  Pooree 
from  its  place  under  the  clock  on  the  mantelpiece  ! 
Stole  it  like  the  thief  he  was  by  nature.  Three  days 
later  all  Simla  was  electrified  by  the  news  that  Miss 
Hollis  had  accepted  Pack  —  the  shrivelled  rat,  Pack  ! 
Do  you  desire  clearer  evidence  than  this  ?  The 
Bisara  of  Pooree  had  been  stolen,  and  it  worked  as 
it  had  always  done  when  won  by  foul  means. 

There  are  three  or  four  times  in  a  man's  life  when 
he  is  justified  in  meddling  with  other  people's  affairs 
to  play  Providence. 

The  Man  who  Knew  felt  that  he  was  justified ;  but 
believing  and.  acting  on  a  belief  are  quite  different 
things.  The  insolent  satisfaction  of  Pack  as  he  ambled 
by  the  side  of  Miss  Hollis,  and  Churton's  striking 
release  from  liver,  as  soon  as  the  Bisara  of  Pooree  had 
gone,  decided  The  Man.  He  explained  to  Churton, 
and  Churton  laughed,  because  he  was  not  brought  up 
to  believe  that  men  on  the  Government  House  List 

steal at  least  little  things.  But  the  miraculous 

acceptance  by  Miss  Hollis  of  that  tailor,  Pack,  decided 
him  to  take  steps  on  suspicion.  He  vowed  that  he 
only  wanted  to  find  out  where  his  ruby-studded  silver 
box  had  vanished  to.  You  cannot  accuse  a  man  on 
the  Government  House  List  of  stealing.  And  if  you 
rifle  his  room,  you  are  a  thief  yourself.  Churton, 


260  PLAIN  TALES   FROM  THE  HILLS 

prompted  by  The  Man  who  Knew,  decided  on  burglary. 
If  lie  found  nothing  in  Pack's  room  .  .  .  but  it  is  not 
nice  to  think  of  what  would  have  happened  in  that 
case. 

Pack  went  to  a  dance  at  Benmore  —  Benmore  was 
Benmore  in  those  days,  and  not  an  office  —  and  danced 
fifteen  waltzes  out  of  twenty-two  with  Miss  Hollis. 
Churton  and  The  Man  took  all  the  keys  that  they 
could  lay  hands  on,  and  went  to  Pack's  room  in  the 
hotel,  certain  that  his  servants  would  be  away.  Pack 
was  a  cheap  soul.  He  had  not  purchased  a  decent  cash- 
box  to  keep  his  papers  in,  but  one  of  those  native 
imitations  that  you  buy  for  ten  rupees.  It  opened  to 
any  sort  of  key,  and  there  at  the  bottom,  under  Pack's 
Insurance  Policy,  lay  the  Bisara  of  Pooree  ! 

Churton  called  Pack  names,  put  the  Bisara  of  Pooree 
in  his  pocket,  and  went  to  the  dance  with  The  Man. 
At  least,  he  came  in  time  for  supper,  and  saw  the 
beginning  of  the  end  in  Miss  Hollis'  eyes.  She  was 
hysterical  after  supper,  and  was  taken  away  by  her 
Mamma. 

At  the  dance,  with  the  abominable  Bisara  in  his 
pocket,  Churton  twisted  his  foot  on  one  of  the  steps 
leading  down  to  the  old  Rink,  and  had  to  be  sent  home 
in  a  'rickshaw,  grumbling.  He  did  not  believe  in  the 
Bisara  of  Pooree  any  the  more  for  this  manifestation, 
but  he  sought  out  Pack  and  called  him  some  ugly 
names ;  and  '  thief '  was  the  mildest  of  them.  Pack 
took  the  names  with  the  nervous  smile  of  a  little  man 
who  wants  both  soul  and  body  to  resent  an  insult,  and 
went  his  way.  There  was  no  public  scandal. 

A  week  later,  Pack  got  his  definite  dismissal  from 
Miss  Hollis.  There  had  been  a  mistake  in  the  placing 


THE  BISARA  OF  POOREE  261 

of  her  affections,  she  said.  So  he  went  away  to  Madras, 
where  he  can  do  no  great  harm  even  if  he  lives  to  be  a 
Colonel. 

Clmrton  insisted  upon  The  Man  who  Knew  taking 
the  Bisara  of  Pooree  as  a  gift.  The  man  took  it,  went 
down  to  the  Cart-Road  at  once,  found  a  cart-pony 
with  a  blue  bead-necklace,  fastened  the  Bisara  of  Pooree 
inside  the  necklace  with  a  piece  of  shoe-string,  and 
thanked  Heaven  that  he  was  rid  of  a  danger.  Remem- 
ber, in  case  you  ever  find  it,  that  you  must  not  destroy 
the  Bisara  of  Pooree.  I  have  not  time  to  explain  why 
just  now,  but  the  power  lies  in  the  little  wooden  fish. 
Mister  Gubernatis  or  Max  Miiller  could  tell  you  more 
about  it  than  I. 

You  will  say  that  all  this  story  is  made  up.  Very 
well.  If  ever  you  come  across  a  little,  silver,  ruby- 
studded  box,  seven-eighths  of  an  inch  long  by  three- 
quarters  wide,  with  a  dark  brown  wooden  fish,  wrapped 
in  gold  cloth,  inside  it,  keep  it.  Keep  it  for  three 
years,  and  then  you  will  discover  for  yourself  whether 
my  story  is  true  or  false. 

Better  still,  steal  it  as  Pack  did,  and  you  will  be 
sorry  that  you  had  not  killed  yourself  in  the  beginning. 


A   FRIEND'S   FRIEND 

Wherefore  slew  you  the  stranger  ?    He  brought  me  dishonour. 
I  saddled  my  mare  Bijli.     I  set  him  upon  her. 
I  gave  him  rice  and  goat's  flesh.     He  bared  me  to  laughter  ; 
When  he  was  gone  from  my  tent,  swift  I  followed  after, 
Taking  a  sword  in  my  hand.     The  hot  wine  had  filled  him  : 
Under  the  stars  he  mocked  me.     Therefore  I  killed  him. 

— Hadramauti. 

THIS  tale  must  be  told  in  the  first  person  for  many 
reasons.  The  man  I  desire  to  expose  is  Tranter 
of  the  Bombay  side.  I  want  Tranter  black-balled  at 
his  Club,  divorced  from  his  wife,  turned  out  of  Service, 
and  cast  into  prison,  until  I  get  an  apology  from  him 
in  writing.  I  wish  to  warn  the  world  against  Tranter 
of  the  Bombay  side. 

You  know  the  casual  way  in  which  men  pass  on 
acquaintances  in  India.  It  is  a  great  convenience, 
because  you  can  get  rid  of  a  man  you  don't  like  by 
writing  a  letter  of  introduction  and  putting  him,  with 
it,  into  the  train.  T.  G.'s  are  best  treated  thus.  If 
^uu  keep  them  moving,  they  have  no  time  to  say  insult- 
ing and  offensive  things  about  'Anglo-Indian  Society.' 

One  day,  late  in  the  cold  weather,  I  got  a  letter  of 
preparation  from  Tranter  of  the  Bombay  side,  advising 
me  of  the  advent  of  a  T.  G.,  a  man  called  Jevon ;  and 
saying,  as  usual,  that  any  kindness  shown  to  Jevon 

262 


A  FRIEND'S  FRIEND  263 

•would  be  a  kindness  to  Tranter.  Every  one  knows 
the  regular  form  of  these  communications. 

Two  days  later,  Jevon  turned  up  with  his  letter 
of  introduction,  and  I  did  what  I  could  for  him.  He 
was  lint-haired,  fresh-coloured,  and  very  English.  But 
he  held  no  views  about  the  Government  of  India.  Nor 
did  he  insist  on  shooting  tigers  on  the  Station  Mall, 
as  some  T.  G.'s  do.  Nor  did  he  call  us  'colonists,'  and 
dine  in  a  flannel-shirt  and  tweeds,  under  that  delu- 
sion, as  other  T.  G.'s  do.  He  was  well  behaved  and 
very  grateful  for  the  little  I  won  for  him  —  most  grate- 
ful of  all  when  I  secured  him  an  invitation  for  the 
Afghan  Ball,  and  introduced  him  to  a  Mrs.  Deemes,  a 
lady  for  whom  I  had  a  great  respect  and  admiration, 
who  danced  like  the  shadow  of  a  leaf  in  a  light  wind. 
I  set  great  store  by  the  friendship  of  Mrs.  Deemes ; 
but,  had  I  known  what  was  coming,  I  would  have 
broken  Jevon's  neck  with  a  curtain-pole  before  getting 
him  that  invitation. 

But  I  did  not  know,  and  he  dined  at  the  Club,  I 
think,  on  the  night  of  the  ball.  I  dined  at  home. 
When  I  went  to  the  dance,  the  first  man  I  met  asked 
me  whether  I  had  seen  Jevon.  'No,'  said  I.  'He's  at 
the  Club.  Hasn't  he  come  ? '  — '  Come  !  *  said  the  man. 
'  Yes,  lie's  very  much  come.  You'd  better  look  at  him.' 

I  sought  for  Jevon.  I  found  him  sitting  on  a 
bench  and  smiling  to  himself  and  a  programme.  Half 
a  look  was  enough  for  me.  On  that  one  night,  of  all 
others,  he  imd  begun  a  long  and  thirsty  evening,  by 
taking  too  much  !  He  was  breathing  heavily  through 
his  nose,  his  eyes  were  rather  red,  and  lie  appeared 
very  satisfied  with  all  the  earth.  I  put  up  a  little 
prayer  that  the  waltzing  would  work  off  the  wine,  and 


264          PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

went  about  feeling  uncomfortable.  But  I  saw  Jevon 
walk  up  to  Mrs.  Deemes  for  the  first  dance,  and  I 
knew  that  all  the  waltzing  on  the  card  was  not 
enough  to  keep  Jevon's  rebellious  legs  steady.  That 
couple  went  round  six  times.  I  counted.  Mrs.  Deemes 
dropped  Jevon's  arm  and  came  across  to  me. 

I  am  not  going  to  repeat  what  Mrs.  Deemes  said  to 
me  ;  because  she  was  very  angry  indeed.  I  am  not 
going  to  write  what  I  said  to  Mrs.  Deemes,  because  I 
didn't  say  anything.  I  only  wished  that  I  had  killed 
Jevon  first  and  been  hanged  for  it.  Mrs.  Deemes  drew 
her  pencil  through  all  the  dances  that  I  had  booked 
with  her,  and  went  away,  leaving  me  to  remember  that 
what  I  ought  to  have  said  was  that  Mrs.  Deemes  had 
asked  to  be  introduced  to  Jevon  because  he  danced  well ; 
and  that  I  really  had  not  carefully  worked  out  a  plot  to 
insult  her.  But  I  realised  that  argument  was  no  good, 
and  that  I  had  better  try  to  stop  Jevon  from  waltzing 
me  into  more  trouble.  He,  however,  was  gone,  and 
every  third  dance  I  set  off  to  hunt  for  him.  This  ruined 
what  little  pleasure  I  expected  from  the  entertainment. 

Just  before  supper  I  caught  him,  at  the  buffet  with 
his  legs  wide  apart,  talking  to  a  very  fat  and  indignant 
chaperone.  'If  this  person  is  a  friend  of  yours,  as  I 
understand  he  is,  I  would  recommend  you  to  take  him 
home,'  said  she.  '  He  is  unfit  for  decent  society.' 
Then  I  knew  that  goodness  only  knew  what  Jevon  had 
been  doing,  and  I  tried  to  get  him  away. 

But  Jevon  wasn't  going ;  not  he.  He  knew  what 
was  good  for  him,  he  did ;  and  he  wasn't  going  to  be 
dictated  to  by  any  loconial  nigger-driver,  he  wasn't ; 
and  I  was  the  friend  who  had  formed  his  infant  mind 
and  brought  him  up  to  buy  Benares  brassware  and  fear 


A  FRIEND'S  FRIEND  265 

God,  so  I  was ;  and  we  would  have  many  more  blazing 
good  drunks  together,  so  we  would  ;  and  all  the  she- 
camels  in  black  silk  in  the  world  shouldn't  make  him 
withdraw  his  opinion  that  there  was  nothing  better 
than  Benedictine  to  give  one  an  appetite.  And  then 
.  .  .  but  he  was  my  guest. 

I  set  him  in  a  quiet  corner  of  the  supper-room, 
and  went  to  find  a  wall-prop  that  I  could  trust. 
There  was  a  good  and  kindly  Subaltern  —  may  Heaven 
bless  that  Subaltern,  and  make  him  a  Commander-in- 
Chief  !  — who  heard  of  my  trouble.  He  was  not  danc- 
ing himself,  and  he  owned  a  head  like  a  five-year-old 
teak-baulks.  He  said  that  he  would  look  after  Jevon 
till  the  end  of  the  ball. 

'Don't  suppose  you  much  mind  what  I  do  with 
him  ?  '  said  he. 

'  Mind  !  '  said  I.  '  No  !  You  can  murder  the  beast 
if  you  like.' 

But  the  Subaltern  did  not  murder  him.  He  trotted 
off  to  the  supper-room,  and  sat  down  by  Jevon,  drink- 
ing peg  for  peg  with  him.  I  saw  the  two  fairly  estab- 
lished, and  went  away,  feeling  more  easy. 

When  '  The  Roast  Beef  of  Old  England '  sounded,  I 
heard  of  Jevon's  performances  between  the  first  dance  and 
my  meeting  with  him  at  the  buffet.  After  Mrs.  Deemes 
had  cast  him  off,  it  seems  that  he  had  found  his  way  into 
the  gallery,  and  offered  to  conduct  the  Band  or  to  play 
any  instrument  in  it  just  as  the  Bandmaster  pleased. 

When  the  Bandmaster  refused,  Jevon  said  that  he 
wasn't  appreciated,  and  he  yearned  for  sympathy.  So 
he  trundled  downstairs  and  sat  out  four  dances  with 
four  girls,  and  proposed  to  three  of  them.  One  of  the 
girls  was  a  married  woman,  by  the  way.  Then  he 


266  PLAIN  TALES  FKOM  THE  HILLS 

went  into  the  whist-room,  and  fell  face-down  and  wept 
on  the  hearth-rug  in  front  of  the  fire,  because  he  had 
fallen  into  a  den  of  card-sharpers,  and  his  Mamma 
had  always  warned  him  against  bad  company.  He  had 
done  a  lot  of  other  things,  too,  and  had  taken  about 
three  quarts  of  mixed  liquors.  Besides  speaking  of 
me  in  the  most  scandalous  fashion  ! 

All  the  women  wanted  him  turned  out,  and  all  the 
men  wanted  him  kicked.  The  worst  of  it  was,  that 
every  one  said  it  was  my  fault.  Now,  I  put  it  to  you, 
how  on  earth  could  I  have  known  that  this  innocent, 
fluffy  T.  G.  would  break  out  in  this  disgusting  manner  ? 
You  see  he  had  gone  round  the  world  nearly,  and  his 
vocabulary  of  abuse  was  cosmopolitan,  though  mainly 
Japanese  which  he  had  picked  up  in  a  low  tea-house 
at  Hakodate.  It  sounded  like  whistling. 

While  I  was  listening  to  first  one  man  and  then 
another  telling  me  of  Jevon's  shameless  behaviour  and 
asking  me  for  his  blood,  I  wondered  where  he  was.  I 
was  prepared  to  sacrifice  him  to  Society  on  the  spot. 

But  Jevon  was  gone,  and,  far  away  in  the  corner  of 
the  supper-room,  sat  my  dear,  good  Subaltern,  a  little 
flushed,  eating  salad.  I  went  over  and  said,  '  Where's 
Jevon  ? '  —  'In  the  cloakroom,'  said  the  Subaltern. 
4  He'll  keep  till  the  women  have  gone.  Don't  you  inter- 
fere with  my  prisoner. '  I  didn't  want  to  interfere,  but 
I  peeped  into  the  cloakroom,  and  found  my  guest  put 
to  bed  on  some  rolled-up  carpets,  all  comfy,  his  collar 
free,  and  a  wet  swab  on  his  head. 

The  rest  of  the  evening  I  spent  in  timid  attempts 
to  explain  things  to  Mrs.  Deemes  and  three  or  four 
other  ladies,  and  trying  to  clear  my  character  — 
for  I  am  a  respectable  man  —  from  the  shameful  slurs 


A  FRIEND'S  FRIEND  267 

that  my  guest  had  cast  upon  it.  Libel  was  no  word 
for  what  he  had  said. 

When  I  wasn't  trying  to  explain,  I  was  running  oft 
to  the  cloakroom  to  see  that  Jevon  wasn't  dead  of 
apoplexy.  I  didn't  want  him  to  die  on  my  hands. 
He  had  eaten  my  salt. 

At  last  that  ghastly  ball  ended,  though  I  was  not 
in  the  least  restored  to  Mrs.  Deemes'  favour.  When 
the  ladies  had  gone,  and  some  one  was  calling  for  songs 
at  the  second  supper,  that  angelic  Subaltern  told  the 
servants  to  bring  in  the  Sahib  who  was  in  the  cloak- 
room, and  clear  away  one  end  of  the  supper-table. 
While  this  was  being  done,  we  formed  ourselves  into  a 
Board  of  Punishment  with  the  Doctor  for  President. 

Jevon  came  in  on  four  men's  shoulders,  and  was  put 
down  on  the  table  like  a  corpse  in  a  dissecting-room, 
while  the  Doctor  lectured  on  the  evils  of  intemperance 
and  Jevon  snored.  Then  we  set  to  work. 

We  corked  the  whole  of  his  face.  We  filled  his 
hair  with  meringue-cream  till  it  looked  like  a  white 
wig.  To  protect  everything  till  it  dried,  a  man  in  the 
Ordnance  Department,  who  understood  the  work,  luted 
a  big  blue-paper  cap  from  a  cracker,  with  meringue- 
cream,  low  down  on  Jevon's  forehead.  This  was  pun- 
ishment, not  play,  remember.  We  took  the  gelatine 
of  crackers,  and  stuck  blue  gelatine  on  his  nose,  and 
yello\v  gelatine  on  his  chin,  and  green  and  red  gelatine 
on  his  cheeks,  pressing  each  dab  down  till  it  held  as 
iirm  as  goldbeaters'  skin. 

We  put  a  ham-i'rill  round  his  neck,  and  tied  it  in  a 
bow  in  front.  He  nodded  like  a  mandarin. 

We  fixed  gelatine  on  the  back  of  his  hands,  and 
burnt-corked  them  inside,  and  put  small  cutlet-frills 


268  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

round  his  wrists,  and  tied  both  wrists  together  with 
string.  We  waxed  up  the  ends  of  his  moustache  with 
isinglass.  He  looked  very  martial. 

We  turned  him  over,  pinned  up  his  coat-tails  be- 
tween his  shoulders,  and  put  a  rosette  of  cutlet-frills 
there.  We  took  up  the  red  cloth  from  the  ball-room 
to  the  supper-room,  and  wound  him  up  in  it.  There 
were  sixty  feet  of  red  cloth,  six  feet  broad  ;  and  he 
rolled  up  into  a  big  fat  bundle,  with  only  that  amazing 
head  sticking  out. 

Lastly,  we  tied  up  the  surplus  of  the  cloth  beyond 
his  feet  with  cocoanut-fibre  string  as  tightly  as  we  knew 
how.  We  were  so  angry  that  we  hardly  laughed  at  all. 

Just  as  we  finished,  we  heard  the  rumble  of  bullock- 
carts  taking  away  some  chairs  and  things  that  the 
General's  wife  had  lent  for  the  ball.  So  we  hoisted 
Jevon,  like  a  roll  of  carpets,  into  one  of  the  carts,  and 
the  carts  went  away. 

Now  the  most  extraordinary  part  of  this  tale  is  that 
never  again  did  I  see  or  hear  anything  of  Jevon,  T.  G. 
He  vanished  utterly.  He  was  not  delivered  at  the 
General's  house  with  the  carpets.  He  just  went  into  the 
black  darkness  of  the  end  of  the  night,  and  was  swallowed 
up.  Perhaps  he  died  and  was  thrown  into  the  river. 

But,  alive  or  dead,  I  have  often  wondered  how  he 
got  rid  of  the  red  cloth  and  the  meringue-cream.  I 
wonder  still  whether  Mrs.  Deemes  will  ever  take  any 
notice  of  me  again,  and  whether  I  shall  live  down  the 
infamous  stories  that  Jevon  set  afloat  about  my  manners 
and  customs  between  the  first  and  the  ninth  waltz  of 
the  Afghan  Ball.  They  stick  closer  than  cream. 

Wherefore,  I  want  Tranter  of  the  Bombay  side, 
dead  or  alive.  But  dead  for  preference. 


THE   GATE   OF   THE   HUNDRED   SORROWS 

If  I  can  attain  Heaven  for  a  pice,  why  should  you  be  envious  ? 

—  Opium  Smoker's  Proverb. 

THIS  is  no  work  of  mine.  My  friend,  Gabral  Misquitta. 
the  half-caste,  spoke  it  all,  between  moonset  and  morn- 
ing, six  weeks  before  he  died ;  and  I  took  it  down  from 
his  mouth  as  he  answered  my  questions.  So :  — 

It  lies  between  the  Coppersmith's  Gully  and  the 
pipe-stem  sellers'  quarter,  within  a  hundred  yards,  too, 
as  the  crow  rlies,  of  the  Mosque  of  Wazir  Khan.  I 
don't  mind  telling  any  one  this  much,  but  I  defy  him 
to  find  the  Gate,  however  well  he  may  think  he  knows 
the  City.  You  might  even  go  through  the  very  gully 
it  stands  in  a  hundred  times,  and  be  none  the  wiser. 
We  used  to  call  the  gully,  '  The  Gully  of  the  Black 
Smoke,'  but  its  native  name  is  altogether  different  of 
course.  A  loaded  donkey  couldn't  pass  between  the 
walls ;  and,  at  one  point,  just  before  you  reach  the 
Gate,  a  bulged  house-front  makes  people  go  along  all 
sideways. 

It  isn't  really  a  gate,  though.  It's  a  house.  Old 
Fung-Tching  had  it  first  five  years  ago.  lie  was  a 
boot-maker  in  Calcutta.  They  say  that  he  murdered 
his  wife  there  when  he  was  drunk.  That  was  why  he 
dropped  bazar-rum  and  took  to  the  Black  Smoke  instead. 

209 


270          PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

Later  on,  he  came  up  north  and  opened  the  Gate  as  a 
house  where  you  could  get  your  smoke  in  peace  and 
quiet.  Mind  you,  it  was  a  pukka,  respectable  opium- 
house,  and  not  one  of  those  stifling,  sweltering  chandoo- 
khanas,  that  you  can  find  all  over  the  City.  No ;  the 
old  man  knew  his  business  thoroughly,  and  he  was 
most  clean  for  a  Chinaman.  He  was  a  one-eyed  little 
chap,  not  much  more  than  five  feet  high,  and  both  his 
middle  fingers  were  gone.  All  the  same,  he  was  the 
handiest  man  at  rolling  black  pills  I  have  eter  seen. 
Never  seemed  to  be  touched  by  the  Smoke,  either ;  and 
what  he  took  day  and  night,  night  and  day,  was  a 
caution.  I've  been  at  it  five  years,  and  I  can  do  my 
fair  share  of  the  Smoke  with  any  one ;  but  I  was  a  child 
to  Fung-Tching  that  way.  All  the  same,  the  old  man 
was  keen  on  his  money :  very  keen ;  and  that's  what 
I  can't  understand.  I  heard  he  saved  a  good  deal 
before  he  died,  but  his  nephew  has  got  all  that  now; 
and  the  old  man's  gone  back  to  China  to  be  buried. 

He  kept  the  big  upper  room,  where  his  best  cus- 
tomers gathered,  as  neat  as  a  new  pin.  In  one  corner 
used  to  stand  Fung-Tching's  Joss  —  almost  as  ugly  as 
Fung-Tching  —  and  there  were  always  sticks  burning 
under  his  nose ;  but  you  never  smelt  'em  when  the 
pipes  were  going  thick.  Opposite  the  Joss  was  Fung- 
Tching's  coffin.  He  had  spent  a  good  deal  of  his 
savings  on  that,  and  whenever  a  new  man  came  to  the 
Gate  he  was  always  introduced  to  it.  It  was  lacquered 
black,  with  red  and  gold  writings  on  it,  and  I've  heard 
that  Fung-Tching  brought  it  out  all  the  way  from 
China.  I  don't  know  whether  that's  true  or  not,  but  I 
know  that,  if  I  came  first  in  the  evening,  I  used  to 
spread  my  mat  just  at  the  foot  of  it.  It  was  a  quiet 


THE  GATE  OF  THE  HUNDRED  SORROWS  271 

corner,  you  see,  and  a  sort  of  breeze  from  the  gully 
came  in  at  the  window  now  and  then.  Besides  the 
mats,  there  was  no  other  furniture  in  the  room  —  only 
the  coffin,  and  the  old  Joss  all  green  and  blue  and 
purple  with  age  and  polish. 

Fung-Tching  never  told  us  why  he  called  the  place 
'  The  Gate  of  the  Hundred  Sorrows.'  (He  was  the 
only  Chinaman  I  know  who  used  bad-sounding  fancy 
names.  Most  of  them  are  flowery.  As  you'll  see  in 
Calcutta?)  We  used  to  find  that  out  for  ourselves. 
Nothing  grows  on  you  so  much,  if  you're  white,  as 
the  Black  Smoke.  A  yellow  man  is  made  different. 
Opium  doesn't  tell  on  him  scarcely  at  all;  but  white 
and  black  suffer  a  good  deal.  Of  course,  there  are 
some  people  that  the  Smoke  doesn't  touch  any  more 
than  tobacco  would  at  first.  They  just  doze  a  bit,  as 
one  would  fall  asleep  naturally,  and  next  morning  they 
are  almost  fit  for  work.  Now,  I  was  one  of  that  sort 
when  I  began,  but  I've  been  at  it  for  five  years  pretty 
steadily,  and  it's  different  now.  There  was  an  old 
aunt  of  mine,  down  Agra  way,  and  she  left  me  a  little 
at  her  death.  About  sixty  rupees  a  month  secured. 
Sixty  isn't  much.  I  can  recollect  a  time,  'seems  hun- 
dreds and  hundreds  of  years  ago,  that  I  was  getting 
my  three  hundred  a  month,  and  pickings,  when  I  was 
working  011  a  big  timber-contract  in  Calcutta. 

I  didn't  stick  to  that  work  for  long.  The  Black 
Smoke  does  not  allow  of  much  other  business  ;  and 
even  though  I  am  very  little  affected  by  it,  as  men  go, 
I  couldn't  do  a  day's  work  now  to  save  my  life.  After 
all,  sixty  rupees  is  what  I  want.  When  old  Fung- 
Tching  was  alive  he  used  to  draw  the  money  for  me, 
give  me  about  half  of  it  to  live  on  (1  eat  very  little), 


272  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

and  the  rest  he  kept  himself.  I  was  free  of  the  Gate 
at  any  time  of  the  day  and  night,  and  could  smoke  and 
sleep  there  when  I  liked,  so  I  didn't  care.  I  know  the 
old  man  made  a  good  thing  out  of  it ;  but  that's  no 
matter.  Nothing  matters  much  to  me ;  and  besides, 
the  money  always  came  fresh  and  fresh  each  month. 

There  was  ten  of  us  met  at  the  Gate  when  the  place 
was  first  opened.  Me,  and  two  Baboos  from  a  Govern- 
ment Office  somewhere  in  Anarkulli,  but  they  got  the 
sack  and  couldn't  pay  (no  man  who  has  to  work  in 
the  daylight  can  do  the  Black  Smoke  for  any  length 
of  time  straight  on) ;  a  Chinaman  that  was  Fung- 
Tching's  nephew  ;  a  bazar :woman  that  had  got  a  lot  of 
money  somehow  ;  an  English  loafer  —  MacSomebody 
I  think,  but  I  have  forgotten  —  that  smoked  heaps, 
but  never  seemed  to  pay  anything  (they  said  he  had 
saved  Fung-Tching's  life  at  some  trial  in  Calcutta 
when  he  was  a  barrister)  ;  another  Eurasian,  like  my- 
self, from  Madras ;  a  half-caste  woman,  and  a  couple 
of  men  who  said  they  had  come  from  the  North.  I 
think  they  must  have  been  Persians  or  Afghans  or 
something.  There  are  not  more  than  five  of  us  living 
now,  but  we  come  regular.  I  don't  know  what  hap- 
pened to  the  Baboos ;  but  the  bazar-woman  she  died 
after  six  months  of  the  Gate,  and  I  think  Fung- Telling 
took  her  bangles  and  nose-ring  for  himself.  But  I'm 
not  certain.  The  Englishman,  lie  drank  as  well  as 
smoked,  and  he  dropped  off.  One  of  the  Persians  got 
killed  in  a  row  at  night  by  the  big  well  near  the 
mosque  a  long  time  ago,  and  the  Police  shut  up  the 
well,  because  they  said  it  was  full  of  foul  air.  They 
found  him  dead  at  the  bottom  of  it.  So  you  see.  there 
is  only  me,  the  Chinaman,  the  half-caste  woman  that 


THE  GATE  OF  THE  HUNDRED  SORROWS  273 

we  call  the  Memsahib  (she  used  to  live  with  Fung- 
Tching),  the  other  Eurasian,  and  one  of  the  Persians. 
The  Memsahib  looks  very  old  now.  I  think  she  was  a 
young-  woman  when  the  Gate  was  opened ;  but  we  are 
all  old  for  the  matter  of  that.  Hundreds  and  hun- 
dreds of  years  old.  It  is  very  hard  to  keep  count  of 
time  in  the  Gate,  and,  besides,  time  doesn't  matter  to 
me.  I  draw  my  sixty  rupees  fresh  and  fresh  every 
month.  A  very,  very  long  while  ago,  when  I  used  to 
be  getting  three  hundred  and  fifty  rupees  a  month,  and 
pickings,  on  a  big  timber-contract  at  Calcutta,  I  had  a 
wife  of  sorts.  But  she's  dead  now.  People  said  that 
I  killed  her  by  taking  to  the  Black  Smoke.  Perhaps 
I  did,  but  it's  so  long  since  that  it  doesn't  matter. 
Sometimes  when  I  first  came  to  the  Gate,  I  used  to 
feel  sorry  for  it  ;  but  that's  all  over  and  done  with 
long  ago,  and  I  draw  my  sixty  rupees  fresh  and  fresh 
every  month,  and  am  quite  happy.  Not  drunk  happy, 
you  know,  but  always  quiet  and  soothed  and  contented. 
How  did  I  take  to  it  ?  It  began  at  Calcutta.  I 
used  to  try  it  in  my  own  house,  just  to  see  what  it 
was  like.  I  never  went  very  far,  but  I  think  my  wife 
must  have  died  then.  Anyhow,  I  found  myself  here, 
and  got  to  know  Fung-Tching.  I  don't  remember 
rightly  how  that  came  about ;  but  he  told  me  of  the 
Gate  and  I  used  to  go  there,  and,  somehow,  I  have 
never  gut  away  from  it  since.  Mind  you,  though, 
the  Gate  was  a  respectable  place  in  Fung-Tching's 
time  where  you  could  be  comfortable,  and  not  at  all 
like  the  chandoo-khanas  where  the  niggers  go.  No  ; 
it  was  clean  and  quiet,  and  not  crowded.  Of  course, 
there  were  others  besides  us  ten  and  the  man  ;  but 
we  always  had  a  mat  apiece,  with  a  wadded  woollen 


274  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

headpiece,  all  covered  with  black  and  red  dragons  and 
things ;  just  like  the  coffin  in  the  corner. 

At  the  end  of  one's  third  pipe  the  dragons  used  to 
move  about  and  fight.  I've  watched  'em  many  and 
many  a  night  through.  I  used  to  regulate  my  Smoke 
that  way,  and  now  it  takes  a  dozen  pipes  to  make  'em 
stir.  Besides,  they  are  all  torn  and  dirty,  like  the 
mats,  and  old  Fuiig-Tching  is  dead.  He  died  a  couple 
of  years  ago,  and  gave  me  the  pipe  I  always  use  now 
—  a  silver  one,  with  queer  beasts  crawling  up  and 
down  the  receiver-bottle  below  the  cup.  Before  that, 
I  think,  I  used  a  big  bamboo  stem  with  a  copper  cup, 
a  very  small  one,  and  a  green  jade  mouthpiece.  It 
was  a  little  thicker  than  a  walking-stick  stem,  and 
smoked  sweet,  very  sweet.  The  bamboo  seemed  to 
suck  up  the  smoke.  Silver  doesn't,  and  I've  got  to 
clean  it  out  now  and  then,  that's  a  great  deal  of  trouble, 
but  I  smoke  it  for  the  old  man's  sake.  He  must  have 
made  a  good  thing  out  of  me,  but  he  always  gave  me 
clean  mats  and  pillows,  and  the  best  stuff  you  could 
get  anywhere. 

When  he  died,  his  nephew  Tsin-ling  took  up  the 
Gate,  and  he  called  it  the  'Temple  of  the  Three 
Possessions ' ;  but  we  old  ones  speak  of  it  as  the 
'  Hundred  Sorrows,'  all  the  same.  The  nephew  does 
things  very  shabbily,  and  I  think  the  Memsahib  must 
help  him.  She  lives  with  him ;  same  as  she  used  to 
do  with  the  old  man.  The  two  let  in  all  sorts  of  low 
people,  niggers  and  all,  and  the  Black  Smoke  isn't 
as  good  as  it  used  to  be.  I've  found  burnt  bran 
in  my  pipe  over  and  over  again.  The  old  man 
would  have  died  if  that  had  happened  in  his  time. 
Besides,  the  room  is  never  cleaned,  and  all  the  mats 


THE  GATE  OF  THE  HIMDRED  SORROWS  275 

are  torn  and  cut  at  the  edges.  The  coffin  is  gone  — 
gone  to  China  again  —  with  the  old  man  and  two  ounces 
of  Smoke  inside  it,  in  case  he  should  want  'em  on  the 
way. 

The  Joss  doesn't  get  so  many  sticks  burnt  under 
his  nose  as  he  used  to  ;  that's  a  sign  of  ill-luck,  as 
sure  as  Death.  He's  all  brown,  too,  and  no  one  ever 
attends  to  him.  That's  the  Memsaliib' 's  work,  I  know  ; 
because,  when  Tsin-ling  tried  to  burn  gilt  paper  before 
him,  she  said  it  was  a  waste  of  money,  and,  if  he  kept 
a  stick  burning  very  slowly,  the  Joss  wouldn't  know 
the  difference,  So  now  we've  got  the  sticks  mixed 
with  a  lot  of  glue,  and  they  take  half  an  hour  longer  to 
burn,  and  smell  stinky.  Let  alone  the  smell  of  the 
room  by  itself.  No  business  can  get  on  if  they  try 
that  sort  of  thing.  The  Joss  doesn't  like  it.  I  can 
see  that.  Late  at  night,  sometimes,  he  turns  all  sorts 
of  queer  colours — blue  and  green  and  red  —  just  as  he 
used  to  do  when  old  Fung-Tching  was  alive  ;  and  he 
rolls  his  eyes  and  stamps  his  feet  like  a  devil. 

I  don't  know  why  I  don't  leave  the  place  and 
smoke  quietly  in  a  little  room  of  my  own  in  the  bazar. 
Most  like,  Tsin-ling  would  kill  me  if  I  went  away  — 
he  draws  my  sixty  rupees  now  —  and  besides,  it's  so 
much  trouble,  and  I've  grown  to  be  very  fond  of  the 
Gate.  It's  not  much  to  look  at.  Not  what  it  was  in 
the  old  man's  time,  but  I  couldn't  leave  it.  I've  seen 
so  many  come  in  and  out.  And  I've  seen  so  many 
die  here  on  the  mats  that  I  should  be  afraid  of  dying 
in  the  open  now.  I've  seen  some  things  that  people 
would  call  strange  enough  ;  but  nothing  is  strange 
when  you're  on  the  Black  Smoke,  except  the  Black 
Smoke.  And  if  it  was,  it  wouldn't  matter.  Fung- 


276  PLAIK  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

Tching  used  to  be  very  particular  about  his  people,  and 
never  got  in  any  one  who'd  give  trouble  by  dying 
messy  and  such.  But  the  nephew  isn't  half  so  careful. 
He  tells  everywhere  that  he  keeps  a  '  first-chop '  house. 
Never  tries  to  get  men  in  quietly,  and  make  them 
comfortable  like  Fung-Tching  did.  That's  why  the 
Gate  is  getting  a  little  bit  more  known  than  it  used 
to  be.  Among  the  niggers  of  course.  The  nephew 
daren't  get  a  white,  or,  for  matter  of  that,  a  mixed 
skin  into  the  place.  He  has  to  keep  us  three  of  course 

—  me  and  the  MemsaJiib  and  the  other  Eurasian.    We're 
fixtures.     But  he  wouldn't  give  us  credit  for  a  pipeful 

—  not  for  anything. 

One  of  these  days,  I  hope,  I  shall  die  in  the  Gate. 
The  Persian  and  the  Madras  man  are  terribly  shak}r 
now.  They've  got  a  boy  to  light  their  pipes  for  them. 
I  always  do  that  myself.  Most  like,  I  shall  see  them 
carried  out  before  me.  I  don't  think  I  shall  ever 
outlive  the  Memsahib  or  Tsin-ling.  Women  last 
longer  than  men  at  the  Black  Smoke,  and  Tsin-ling 
has  a  deal  of  the  old  man's  blood  in  him,  though  he 
does  smoke  cheap  stuff.  The  bazar-woman  knew  when 
she  was  going  two  days  before  her  time  ;  and  she 
died  on  a  clean  mat  with  a  nicely  wadded  pillow, 
and  the  old  man  hung  up  her  pipe  just  above  the 
Joss.  He  was  always  fond  of  her,  I  fancy.  But  he 
took  her  bangles  just  the  same. 

I  should  like  to  die  like  the  bazar-woman  —  on  a 
clean,  cool  mat  with  a  pipe  of  good  stuff  between  my 
lips.  When  I  feel  I'm  going,  I  shall  ask  Tsin-ling 
for  them,  and  he  can  draw  my  sixty  rupees  a  month, 
fresh  and  fresh,  as  long  as  he  pleases.  Then  I  shall 
lie  back,  quiet  and  comfortable,  and  watch  the  black 


THE  GATE  OF  THE  HUNDRED  SORROWS      277 

and  red  dragons  have  their   last  big  fight  together ; 
and  then  .  .  . 

Well,  it  doesn't  matter.  Nothing  matters  much 
to  me  —  only  I  wish  Tsin-ling  wouldn't  put  bran  into 
the  Black  Smoke. 


THE   MADNESS   OF   PRIVATE   ORTHERIS 

Oh  !     Where  would  I  be  when  my  froat  was  dry  ? 
Oh  !     Where  would  I  be  when  the  bullets  fly  ? 
Oh  !    Where  would  I  be  when  I  come  to  die  ? 

Why, 
Somewheres  anigh  my  chum. 

If  'e's  liquor  'e'll  give  me  some, 

If  I'm  dyin'  'e'll  'old  my  'ead, 

An'  'e'll  write  'em  'Ome  when  I'm  dead.  — 

Gawd  send  us  a  trusty  chum  ! 

— Barrack  Boom  Ballad. 

MY  friends  Mulvaney  and  Ortheris  had  gone  on  a 
shooting-expedition  for  one  day.  Learoyd  was  still 
in  hospital,  recovering  from  fever  picked  up  in  Burma. 
They  sent  me  an  invitation  to  join  them,  and  were 
genuinely  pained  when  I  brought  beer  —  almost  enough 
beer  to  satisfy  two  Privates  of  the  Line  .  .  .  and  Me. 

4  'Twasn't  for  that  we  bid  you  welkim,  Sorr,'  said 
Mulvaney,  sulkily.  '  'Twas  for  the  pleasure  av  your 
comp'ny.' 

Ortheris  came  to  the  rescue  with  — '  Well,  'e  won't 
be  none  the  worse  for  bringin'  liquor  with  'im.  We 
ain't  a  file  o'  Dooks.  We're  bloomin'  Tommies,  ye 
cantankris  Hirishman  ;  an'  'eres  your  very  good  'ealth  ! ' 

We  shot  all  the  forenoon,  and  killed  two  pariah- 
dogSj  four  green  parrots,  sitting,  one  kite  by  the 

278 


THE  MADNESS  OF  PRIVATE  ORTHERIS  279 

burning-ghaut,  one  snake  flying,  one  mud-turtle,  and 
eight  crows.  Game  was  plentiful.  Then  we  sat 
down  to  tiffin  —  '  bull-mate  an'  bran-bread,'  Mulvaney 
called  it  —  by  the  side  of  the  river,  and  took  pot  shots 
at  the  crocodiles  in  the  intervals  of  cutting  up  the 
food  with  our  only  pocket-knife.  Then  we  drank 
up  all  the  beer,  and  threw  the  bottles  into  the  water 
and  fired  at  them.  After  that,  we  eased  belts  and 
stretched  ourselves  on  the  warm  sand  and  smoked. 
We  were  too  lazy  to  continue  shooting. 

Ortheris  heaved  a  big  sigh,  as  he  lay  on  his 
stomach  with  his  head  between  his  fists.  Then  he 
swore  quietly  into  the  blue  sky. 

'Fwhat's  that  for?'  said  Mulvaney.  'Have  ye  not 
drunk  enough  ? ' 

'  Tott'nim  Court  Road,  an'  a  gal  I  fancied  there. 
Wot's  the  good  of  sodgerin'  ? ' 

'  Orth'ris,  me  son,'  said  Mulvaney,  hastily,  '  'tis  more 
than  likely  you've  got  throuble  in  your  inside  wid  the 
beer.  I  feel  that  way  mesilf  whin  my  liver  gets  rusty.' 

Ortheris  went  on  slowly,  not  heeding  the  interrup- 
tion— 

'I'm  a  Tommy  —  a  bloomin',  eight-anna,  dog-stealin' 
Tommy,  with  a  number  instead  of  a  decent  name. 
Wot's  the  good  o'  me  ?  If  I  'ad  a  stayed  at  'Ome, 
I  might  a  married  that  gal  and  a  kep'  a  little  shorp 
in  the  'Ammersmith  Tgh.  —  "  S.  Orth'ris,  Prac-ti-cal 
Taxi-der-mist."  With  a  stuff  fox,  like  they  'as  in 
the  Haylesbury  Dairies,  in  the  winder,  an'  a  little  case 
of  blue  and  yaller  glass-heyes,  an'  a  little  wife  to  call 
"  shorp  !  "  "  shorp  !  "  when  the  door-bell  rung.  As  it 
his,  I'm  on'y  a  Tommy — a  Bloomin',  Gawd-forsaken, 
Beer-swillin'  Tommy.  "  Rest  on  your  harms  —  'versed. 


280  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

Stan'  at  —  hease  ;  ''Shun.  'Verse  —  harms.  Right  an' 
lef  —  tarrn.  Slow  —  march.  'Alt  — front.  Rest  on 
your  harms  —  'versed.  With  blank-cartridge — load." 
An'  that's  the  end  o'  me.'  He  was  quoting  fragments 
from  Funeral  Parties'  Orders. 

'  Stop  ut ! '  shouted  Mulvaney.  '  Whin  you've  fired 
into  nothin'  as  often  as  me,  over  a  better  man  than 
yoursilf,  you  will  not  make  a  mock  av  thim  orders. 
'Tis  worse  than  whistlin'  the  Dead  March  in  barricks. 
An'  you  full  as  a  tick,  an'  the  sun  cool,  an'  all  an'  all ! 
I  take  shame  for  you.  You're  no  better  than  a 
Pagin  —  you  an'  your  firm'  parties  an'  your  glass-eyes. 
Won't  you  stop  ut,  Sorr  ?  ' 

What  could  I  do?  Could  I  tell  Ortheris  anything 
that  he  did  not  know  of  the  pleasures  of  his  life  ?  I 
was  not  a  Chaplain  nor  a  Subaltern,  and  Ortheris  had 
a  right  to  speak  as  he  thought  fit. 

'Let  him  run,  Mulvaney,'  I  said.     'It's  the  beer.' 

'  No  !  "Tisn't  the  beer,'  said  Mulvaney.  '  I  know 
f what's  comin'.  He's  tuk  this  way  now  an'  agin,  an' 
it's  bad —  it's  bad  —  for  I'm  fond  av  the  bhoy.' 

Indeed,  Mulvaney  seemed  needlessly  anxious ;  but 
I  knew  that  he  looked  after  Ortheris  in  a  fatherly 
way. 

'  Let  me  talk,  let  me  talk,'  said  Ortheris,  dreamily. 
'  D'you  stop  your  parrit  screamin'  of  a  'ot  day,  when 
the  cage  is  a-cookin'  'is  pore  little  pink  toes  orf,  Mul- 
vaney ? ' 

'  Pink  toes  !  D'ye  mane  to  say  you've  pink  toes 
undher  your  bullswools,  ye  blandanderin','  —  Mulvaney 
gathered  himself  together  for  a  terrific  denunciation  — 
'  school-misthress  !  Pink  toes  !  How  much  Bass  wid 
the  label  did  ttat  ravin'  child  dhrink  ? ' 


THE  MADNESS  OF  PRIVATE  ORTHERIS  281 

''Tain't  Bass,'  said  Ortheris.  'It's  a  bitterer  beer 
nor  that.  It's  'ome-sickiiess  !  ' 

'  Hark  to  him  !  An'  he  goin'  Home  in  the  STierapis 
in  the  inside  av  four  months  ! ' 

'  I  don't  care.  It's  all  one  to  me.  'O\v  d'you  know 
I  ain't  'fraid  o'  dyin'  'fore  I  gets  my  discharge  paipers  ?  ' 
He  recommenced,  in  a  sing-song  voice,  the  Orders. 

I  had  never  seen  this  side  of  Ortheris'  character 
before,  but  evidently  Mulvaney  had,  and  attached 
serious  importance  to  it.  While  Ortheris  babbled, 
with  his  head  on  his  arms,  Mulvaney  whispered  to 
me  — 

'  He's  always  tuk  this  way  whin  he's  been  checked 
overmuch  by  the  child  her  they  make  Sarjints  nowa- 
days. That  an'  havin'  nothin'  to  do.  I  can't  make  ut 
out  anyways.' 

'  Well,  what  does  it  matter  ?  Let  him  talk  himself 
through.' 

Ortheris  began  singing  a  parody  of  '  The  Ramrod 
Corps,'  full  of  cheerful  allusions  to  battle,  murder,  and 
sudden  death.  He  looked  out  across  the  river  as  he 
sang  ;  and  his  face  was  quite  strange  to  me.  Mulvaney 
caught  me  by  the  elbow  to  insure  attention. 

'  Matther  ?  It  matthers  everything  !  'Tis  some 
sort  av  fit  that's  on  him.  I've  seen  ut.  'Twill  hould 
him  all  this  night,  an'  in  the  middle  av  it  he'll  get  out 
av  his  cot  an'  go  rakin'  in  the  rack  for  his  'coutremints. 
Thin  he'll  come  over  to  me  an'  say,  "  I'm  goin'  to 
Bombay.  Answer  for  me  in  the  morniif."  Thin  me 
an'  him  will  light  as  we've  done  before  —  him  to  go  an' 
me  to  hould  him  — an'  so  we'll  both  come  on  the  books 
for  disturbin'  in  barricks.  I've  belted  him,  an'  I've 
bruk  his  head,  an"  I've  talked  to  him,  but  'tis  no 


282  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

manner  av  use  whin  the  fit's  on  him.  He's  as  good  a 
bhoy  as  ever  stepped  whin  his  mind's  clear.  I  know 
fwhat's  comin',  though,  this  night  in  barricks.  Lord 
send  he  doesn't  loose  on  me  whin  I  rise  to  knock  him 
down.  "Pis  that  that's  in  my  mind  day  an'  night.' 

This  put  the  case  in  a  much  less  pleasant  light,  and 
fully  accounted  for  Mulvaney's  anxiety.  He  seemed 
to  be  trying  to  coax  Ortheris  out  of  the  fit ;  for  he 
shouted  down  the  bank  where  the  boy  was  lying  — 

4  Listen  now,  you  wid  the  "  pore  pink  toes  "  an'  the 
glass  eyes  !  Did  you  shwim  the  Irriwaddy  at  night, 
behin'  me,  as  a  bhoy  shud ;  or  were  you  hidin'  under 
a  bed,  as  you  was  at  Ahmid  Kheyl  ? ' 

This  was  at  once  a  gross  insult  and  a  direct  lie,  and 
Mulvaney  meant  it  to  bring  on  a  fight.  But  Ortheris 
seemed  shut  up  in  some  sort  of  a  trance.  He  answered 
slowly,  without  a  sign  of  irritation,  in  the  same  ca- 
denced  voice  as  he  had  used  for  his  firing-party  orders  — 

'  Hi  swum  the  Irriwaddy  in  the  night,  as  you  know, 
for  to  take  the  town  of  Lungtungpen,  nakid  an'  with- 
out fear.  Hand  where  I  was  at  Ahmed  Kheyl  you 
know,  and  four  bloomin'  Pathans  know  too.  But  that 
was  summat  to  do,  an'  I  didn't  think  o'  dyin'.  Now 
I'm  sick  to  go  'Ome  —  go  'Ome  —  go  'Ome  !  No,  I  ain't 
mammysick,  because  my  uncle  brung  me  up,  but  I'm 
sick  for  London  again ;  sick  for  the  sounds  of  'er,  an' 
the  sights  of  'er,  and  the  stinks  of  'er ;  orange-peel  and 
hasphalte  an'  gas  comin'  in  over  Vaux'all  Bridge. 
Sick  for  the  rail  goin'  down  to  Box  '111,  with  your  gal 
on  your  knee  an'  a  new  clay  pipe  in  your  face.  That, 
an'  the  Stran'  lights  where  you  knows  ev'ry  one,  an' 
the  Copper  that  takes  you  up  is  a  old  friend  that  tuk 
you  up  before,  when  you  was  a  little,  smitchy  boy 


THE  MADNESS  OF  PRIVATE  ORTHERIS  283 

lying  loose  'tween  the  Temple  an'  the  Dark  Harches. 
Fo  bloomin'  guard-mountin',  no  bloomin'  rotten-stone, 
nor  khaki,  an'  yourself  your  own  master  with  a  gal  to 
take  an'  see  the  Humaners  practisin'  a-hookin'  dead 
corpses  out  of  the  Serpentine  o'  Sundays.  An'  I  lef 
all  that  for  to  serve  the  Widder  beyond  the  seas,  where 
there  ain't  no  women  and  there  ain't  no  liquor  worth 
'avin',  and  there  ain't  nothin'  to  see,  nor  do,  nor  say,  nor 
feel,  nor  think.  Lord  love  you,  Stanley  Orth'ris,  but 
you're  a  bigger  bloomin'  fool  than  the  rest  o'  the  reg'ment 
and  Mulvaney  wired  together !  There's  the  Widder  sittin' 
at  'Onie  with  a  gold  crownd  on  'er  'ead ;  and  'ere  am  Hi, 
Stanley  Orth'ris,  the  Widder's  property,  a  rottin'  FOOL!  ' 

His  voice  rose  at  the  end  of  the  sentence,  and  he 
wound  up  with  a  six-shot  Anglo- Vernacular  oath. 
Mulvaney  said  nothing,  but  looked  at  me  as  if  he 
expected  that  I  could  bring  peace  to  poor  Ortheris' 
troubled  brain. 

I  remembered  once  at  Rawal  Pindi  having  seen  a 
man,  nearly  mad  with  drink,  sobered  by  being  made 
a  fool  of.  Some  regiments  may  know  what  I  mean.  I 
hoped  that  we  might  slake  off  Ortheris  in  the  same 
way,  though  he  was  perfectly  sober.  So  I  said  — 

'  What's  the  use  of  grousing  there,  and  speaking 
against  The  Widow? ' 

4 1  didn't ! '  said  Ortheris.  '  S'elp  me,  Gawd,  I  never 
said  a  word  agin  'er,  an'  I  wouldn't  —  not  if  I  was  to 
desert  this  minute  ! ' 

Here  was  my  opening.  *  Well,  you  meant  to,  any- 
how. What's  the  use  of  cracking-on  for  nothing? 
Would  you  slip  it  now  if  you  got  the  chance  ? ' 

'  On'y  try  me  !  '  said  Ortheris,  jumping  to  his  feet  as 
if  he  had  been  stung. 


284  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HELLS 

Mulvaney  jumped  too.  'Fwhat  are  you  going  to 
do  ? '  said  he. 

'  Help  Ortheris  down  to  Bombay  or  Karachi,  which- 
ever he  likes.  You  can  report  that  he  separated  from 
you  before  tiffin,  and  left  his  gun  on  the  bank  here  I ' 

'  I'm  to  report  that  —  am  I  ? '  said  Mulvaney,  slowly. 

*  Very  well.     If  Orth'ris  manes  to  desert  now,  and  will 
desert  now,  an'  you,  Sorr,  who  have  been  a  frind  to 
me  an'  to  him,  will  help  him  to  ut,  I,  Terence  Mulvaney, 
on  my  oath  which  I've  never  bruk  yet,  will  report  as 

you  say.     But '  here  he  stepped  up  to  Ortheris, 

and  shook  the  stock  of  the  fowling-piece  in  his  face  — 

*  your  fistes  help  you,  Stanley  Orth'ris,  if  ever  I  come 
across  you  agin  ! ' 

'  I  don't  care ! '  said  Ortheris.  '  I'm  sick  o'  this 
dorg's  life.  Give  me  a  chanst.  Don't  play  with  me. 
Le'  me  go  ! ' 

'  Strip,'  said  I,  '  and  change  with  me,  and  then  I'll 
tell  you  what  to  do.' 

I  hoped  that  the  absurdity  of  this  would  check 
Ortheris ;  but  he  had  kicked  off  his  ammunition-boots 
and  got  rid  of  his  tunic  almost  before  I  had  loosed 
my  shirt-collar.  Mulvaney  gripped  me  by  the  arm  — 

'  The  fit's  on  him  :  the  fit's  workin'  on  him  still ! 
By  my  Honour  and  Sowl,  we  shall  be  accessiry  to  a 
desartion  yet.  Only,  twenty-eight  days,  as  you  say,  Sorr, 
or  fifty-six,  but  think  o'  the  shame  —  the  black  shame  to 
him  an'  me ! '  I  had  never  seen  Mulvaney  so  excited. 

But  Ortheris  was  quite  calm,  and,  as  soon  as  he  had 
exchanged  clothes  with  me,  and  I  stood  up  a  Private  of 
the  Line,  he  said  shortly,  '  Now  !  Come  on.  What 
nex'?  D'ye  mean  fair.  What  must  I  do  to  get  out 
o' this 'ere  a-Hell?' 


THE  MADNESS  OF  PRIVATE  ORTHERIS  285 

I  told  him  that,  if  he  would  wait  for  two  or  three 
hours  near  the  river,  I  would  ride  into  the  Station  and 
come  back  with  one  hundred  rupees.  He  would,  with 
that  money  in  his  pocket,  walk  to  the  nearest  side- 
station  on  the  line,  about  five  miles  away,  and  would 
there  take  a  first-class  ticket  for  Karachi.  Knowing 
that  he  had  no  money  on  him  when  he  went  out 
shooting,  his  regiment  would  not  immediately  wire  to 
the  seaports,  but  would  hunt  for  him  in  the  native 
villages  near  the  river.  Further,  no  one  would  think 
of  seeking  a  deserter  in  a  first-class  carriage.  At 
Karachi,  he  was  to  buy  white  clothes  and  ship,  if  he 
could,  on  a  cargo-steamer. 

Here  he  broke  in.  If  I  helped  him  to  Karachi,  he 
would  arrange  all  the  rest.  Then  I  ordered  him  to 
wait  where  he  was  until  it  was  dark  enough  for  me  to 
ride  into  the  Station  without  my  dress  being  noticed. 
Now  God  in  His  wisdom  has  made  the  heart  of  the 
British  Soldier,  who  is  very  often  an  unlicked  ruffian,  as 
•soft  as  the  heart  of  a  little  child,  in  order  that  he  may 
believe  in  and  follow  his  officers  into  tight  and  nasty 
places.  He  does  not  so  readily  come  to  believe  in  a 
*  civilian,'  but,  when  he  does,  he  believes  implicitly  and 
like  a  dog.  I  had  had  the  honour  of  the  friendship  of 
Private  Ortheris,  at  intervals,  for  more  than  three  years, 
and  we  had  dealt  with  eacli  other  as  man  by  man. 
Consequently,  he  considered  that  all  my  words  were 
true,  and  not  spoken  lightly. 

Mulvaney  and  I  left  him  in  the  high  grass  near  the 
river-bank,  and  went  away,  still  keeping  to  the  high  grass, 
towards  my  horse.  The  shirt  scratched  me  horribly. 

We  waited  nearly  two  hours  for  the  dusk  to  fall  and 
allow  me  to  ride  off.  We  spoke  of  Ortheris  in  whispers, 


286  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

and  strained  our  ears  to  catch  any  sound  from  the  spot 
where  we  had  left  him.  But  we  heard  nothing  except 
the  wind  in  the  plume-grass. 

4  I've  bruk  his  head,'  said  Mulvaney,  earnestly,  '  time 
an'  agin.  I've  nearly  kilt  him  wid  the  belt,  an'  yet  I 
can't  knock  thim  fits  out  av  his  soft  head.  No !  An' 
he's  not  soft,  for  he's  reasonable  an'  likely  by  natur'. 
Fwhat  is  ut  ?  Is  ut  his  breedin'  which  is  nothin',  or 
his  edukashin  which  he  niver  got  ?  You  that  think  ye 
know  things,  answer  me  that.' 

But  I  found  no  answer.  I  was  wondering  how  long 
Ortheris,  in  the  bank  of  the  river,  would  hold  out,  and 
whether  I  should  be  forced  to  help  him  to  desert,  as  I 
had  given  my  word. 

Just  as  the  dusk  shut  down  and,  with  a  very  heavy 
heart,  I  was  beginning  to  saddle  up  my  horse,  we  heard 
wild  shouts  from  the  river. 

The  devils  had  departed  from  Private  Stanley 
Ortheris,  No.  22639,  B  Company.  The  loneliness,  the 
dusk,  and  the  waiting  had  driven  them  out  as  I  had 
hoped.  We  set  off  at  the  double  and  found  him 
plunging  about  wildly  through  the  grass,  with  his  coat 
off  —  my  coat  off,  I  mean.  He  was  calling  for  us  like 
a  madman. 

When  we  reached  him  he  was  dripping  with  perspi- 
ration, and  trembling  like  a  startled  horse.  We  had 
great  difficulty  in  soothing  him.  He  complained  that 
he  was  in  civilian  kit,  and  wanted  to  tear  my  clothes 
off  his  body.  I  ordered  him  to  strip,  and  we  made 
a  second  exchange  as  quickly  as  possible. 

The  rasp  of  his  own  '  grayback '  shirt  and  the  squeak 
of  his  boots  seemed  to  bring  him  to  himself.  He  put 
his  hands  before  his  eyes  and  said  — 


THE  MADNESS   OF  PRIVATE  ORTHERIS  287 

'  Wot  was  it  ?     I  ain't  mad,  I  ain't  sunstrook,  an'  I've 
bin  an'  done  an'  said,  an'  bin  an'  gone  an'  done  .  . 
Wot  'ave  I  bin  an'  done  ?  ' 

'  Fwhat  have  you  done  ?  '  said  Mulvaney.  '  You've 
dishgraced  yourself  —  though  that's  no  matter.  You've 
dishgraced  B  Comp'ny,  an,'  worst  av  all,  you've  dish- 
graced  Me!  Me  that  taught  you  how  for  to  walk  abroad 
like  a  man — whin  you  was  a  dhirty  little,  fish-backed 
little,  whimperin'  little  recruity.  As  you  are  now, 
Stanley  Orth'ris  ! ' 

Ortheris  said  nothing  for  a  while.  Then  he  unslung 
his  belt,  heavy  with  the  badges  of  half  a  dozen  regi- 
ments that  his  own  had  lain  with,  and  handed  it  over 
to  Mulvaney. 

'  I'm  too  little  for  to  mill  you,  Mulvaney,'  said  he, 
'  an'  you've  strook  me  before  ;  but  you  can  take  an'  cut 
me  in  two  with  this  'ere  if  you  like.' 

Mulvaney  turned  to  me. 

'  Lave  me  to  talk  to  him,  Sorr,'  said  Mulvaney. 

I  left,  and  on  my  way  home  thought  a  good  deal 
over  Ortheris  in  particular,  and  my  friend  Private 
Thomas  Atkins,  whom  I  love,  in  general. 

But  I  could  not  come  to  any  conclusion  of  any  kind 
whatever. 


THE   STORY   OF   MUHAMMAD   DIN 

Who  is  the  happy  man  ?  He  that  sees  in  his  own  house  at  home, 
little  children  crowned  with  dust,  leaping  and  falling  and  crying.  — 
Munichandra,  translated  by  Professor  Peterson. 

THE  polo-ball  was  an  old  one,  scarred,  chipped,  and 
dinted.  It  stood  on  the  mantelpiece  among  the  pipe- 
stems  which  Imam  Din,  khitmatgar,  was  cleaning  for 
me. 

'  Does  the  Heaven-born  want  this  ball  ? '  said  Imam 
Din,  deferentially. 

The  Heaven-born  set  no  particular  store  by  it ;  but 
of  what  use  was  a  polo-ball  to  a  kJiitmatgar  ? 

'  By  Your  Honour's  favour,  I  have  a  little  son.  He 
has  seen  this  ball,  and  desires  it  to  play  with.  I  do 
not  want  it  for  myself.' 

No  one  would  for  an  instant  accuse  portly  old 
Imam  Din  of  wanting  to  play  with  polo-balls.  He 
carried  out  the  battered  thing  into  the  verandah  ;  and 
there  followed  a  hurricane  of  joyful  squeaks,  a  patter 
of  small  feet,  and  the  thud-thud-thud  of  the  ball  rolling 
along  the  ground.  Evidently  the  little  son  had  been 
waiting  outside  the  door  to  secure  his  treasure.  But 
how  had  he  managed  to  see  that  polo-ball  ? 

Next  day,  coming  back  from  office  half  an  hour 
earlier  than  usual,  I  was  aware  of  a  small  figure  in  the 

288 


THE  STOEY  OF  MUHAMMAD  DIN  289 

dining-room  —  a  tiny,  plump  figure  in  a  ridiculously 
inadequate  shirt,  which  came,  perhaps,  halfway  down 
the  tubby  stomach.  It  wandered  round  the  room, 
thumb  in  mouth,  crooning  to  itself  as  it  took  stock 
of  the  pictures.  Undoubtedly  this  was  the  'little 
son.' 

He  had  no  business  in  my  room,  of  course  ;  but 
was  so  deeply  absorbed  in  his  discoveries  that  he  never 
noticed  me  in  the  doorway.  I  stepped  into  the  room 
and  startled  him  nearly  into  a  fit.  He  sat  down  011 
the  ground  with  a  gasp.  His  eyes  opened,  and  his 
mouth  followed  suit.  I  knew  what  was  coming,  and 
fled,  followed  by  a  long,  dry  howl  which  reached  the 
servants'  quarters  far  more  quickly  than  any  command 
of  mine  had  ever  done.  In  ten  seconds  Imam  Din 
was  in  the  dining-room.  Then  despairing  sobs  arose, 
and  I  returned  to  find  Imam  Din  admonishing  the 
small  sinner,  who  was  using  most  of  his  shirt  as  a 
handkerchief. 

'  This  boy,'  said  Imam  Din,  judicially,  '  is  a  budmash 

—  a  big  budmash.     He  will,  without  doubt,  go  to  the 

jail-khana  for  his  behaviour.'     Renewed  yells  from  the 

penitent,    and   an   elaborate    apology   to   myself   from 

Imam  Din. 

4  Tell  the  baby,'  I  said,  '  that  the  Sahib  is  not  angry, 
and  take  him  away.'  Imam  Din  conveyed  my  forgive- 
ness to  the  offender,  who  had  now  gathered  all  his  shirt 
round  his  neck,  stringwise,  and  the  yell  subsided  into 
a  sob.  The  two  set  off  for  the  door.  'His  name,' 
said  Imam  Din,  as  though  the  name  were  part  of  the 
crime,  'is  Muhammad  Din,  and  lie  is  a  budmash.' 
freed  from  present  d^ngvr,  Muhammad  Din  turned 
round  in  his  father's  anus,  and  said  gravely,  '  It  is 


290          PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

true  that  my  name  is  Muhammad  Din,  Tahib,  but  I  am 
not  a  budmash.  I  am  a  man!"1 

From  that  day  dated  my  acquaintance  with  Muham- 
mad Din.  Never  again  did  he  come  into  my  dining- 
room,  but  on  the  neutral  ground  of  the  garden,  we 
greeted  each  other  with  much  state,  though  our  con- 
versation was  confined  to  '  Talaam,  Tahib  '  from  his 
side,  and  '  Salaam,  Muhammad  Din '  from  mine.  Daily 
on  my  return  from  office,  the  little  white  shirt  and  the 
fat  little  body  used  to  rise  from  the  shade  of  the  creeper- 
covered  trellis  where  they  had  been  hid  ;  and  daily  I 
checked  my  horse  here,  that  my  salutation  might  not 
be  slurred  over  or  given  unseemly. 

Muhammad  Din  never  had  any  companions.  He 
used  to  trot  about  the  compound,  in  and  out  of  the 
castor-oil  bushes,  on  mysterious  errands  of  his  own. 
One  day  I  stumbled  upon  some  of  his  handiwork  far 
down  the  grounds.  He  had  half  buried  the  polo-ball  in 
dust,  and  stuck  six  shrivelled  old  marigold  flowers  in  a 
circle  round  it.  Outside  that  circle  again  was  a  rude 
square,  traced  out  in  bits  of  red  brick  alternating  with 
fragments  of  broken  china  ;  the  whole  bounded  by  a 
little  bank  of  dust.  The  water-man  from  the  well-curb 
put  in  a  plea  for  the  small  architect,  saying  that  it  was 
only  the  play  of  a  baby  and  did  not  much  disfigure  my 
garden. 

Heaven  knows  that  I  had  no  intention  of  touching 
the  child's  work  then  or  later  ;  but,  that  evening,  a 
stroll  through  the  garden  brought  me  unawares  full  on 
it  ;  so  that  I  trampled,  before  I  knew,  marigold-heads, 
dust-bank,  and  fragments  of  broken  soap-dish  into 
confusion  past  all  hope  of  mending.  Next  morning, 
I  came  upon  Muhammad  Din  crying  softly  to  himself 


THE  STORY  OF  MUHAMMAD  DIN  291 

over  the  ruin  I  had  wrought.  Some  one  had  cruelly 
told  him  that  the  Sahib  was  very  angry  with  him  for 
spoiling  the  garden,  and  had  scattered  his  rubbish, 
using  bad  language  the  while.  Muhammad  Din 
laboured  for  an  hour  at  effacing  every  trace  of  the 
dust-bank  and  pottery  fragments,  and  it  was  with  a 
tearful  and  apologetic  face  that  he  said,  '  Talaam, 
TaliibJ  when  I  came  home  from  office.  A  hasty 
inquiry  resulted  in  Imam  Din  informing  Muhammad 
Din  that,  by  my  singular  favour,  he  was  permitted  to 
disport  himself  as  he  pleased.  Whereat  the  child  took 
heart  and  fell  to  tracing  the  ground-plan  of  an  edifice 
which  was  to  eclipse  the  marigold-polo-ball  creation. 

For  some  months,  the  chubby  little  eccentricity  re- 
volved in  his  humble  orbit  among  the  castor-oil  bushes 
and  in  the  dust ;  always  fashioning  magnificent  palaces 
from  stale  flowers  thrown  away  by  the  bearer,  smooth 
water-worn  pebbles,  bits  of  broken  glass,  and  feathers 
pulled,  I  fancy,  from  my  fowls  —  always  alone,  and 
always  crooning  to  himself. 

A  gaily  spotted  sea-shell  was  dropped  one  day  close 
to  the  last  of  his  little  buildings  ;  and  I  looked  that 
Muhammad  Din  should  build  something  more  than 
ordinarily  splendid  on  the  strength  of  it.  Nor  was  I 
disappointed.  He  meditated  for  the  better  part  of  an 
hour,  and  his  crooning  rose  to  a  jubilant  song.  Then 
he  began  tracing  in  the  dust.  It  would  certainly  be  a 
wondrous  palace,  this  one,  for  it  was  two  yards  long 
and  a  yard  broad  in  ground-plan.  But  the  palace 
was  never  completed. 

Next  day  there  was  no  Muhammad  Din  at  the  head 
of  the  carriage-drive,  and  no  '  Talaam,  Tahib '  to 
welcome  my  return.  I  had  grown  accustomed  to  the 


292          PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  TTTT.T.S 

greeting,  and  its  omission  troubled  me.  Next  day 
Imam  Din  told  me  that  the  child  was  suffering  slightly 
from  fever  and  needed  quinine.  He  got  the  medicine, 
and  an  English  Doctor. 

'  They  have  no  stamina,  these  brats,'  said  the  Doctor, 
as  he  left  Imam  Din's  quarters. 

A  week  later,  though  I  would  have  given  much  to 
have  avoided  it,  I  met  on  the  road  to  the  Mussulman 
burying-ground  Imam  Din,  accompanied  by  one  other 
friend,  carrying  in  his  arms,  wrapped  in  a  white  cloth, 
all  that  was  left  of  little  Muhammad  Din. 


ON   THE   STRENGTH   OF  A  LIKENESS 

If  your  mirror  be  broken,  look  into  still  water ;  but  have  a  care  that 
you  do  not  fall  in.  —  Hindu  Proverb. 

NEXT  to  a  requited  attachment,  one  of  the  most  con- 
venient things  that  a  young  man  can  carry  about  with 
him  at  the  beginning  of  his  career,  is  an  unrequited 
attachment.  It  makes  him  feel  important  and  business- 
like, and  blasS,  and  cynical ;  and  whenever  he  has  a 
touch  of  liver,  or  suffers  from  want  of  exercise,  he  can 
mourn  over  his  lost  love,  and  be  very  happy  in  a 
tender,  twilight  fashion. 

Hannasyde's  affair  of  the  heart  had  been  a  godsend 
to  him.  It  was  four  years  old,  and  the  girl  had  long 
since  given  up  thinking  of  it.  She  had  married  and 
had  many  cares  of  her  own.  In  the  beginning,  she  had 
told  Hannasyde  that,  'while  she  could  never  be  any- 
thing more  than  a  sister  to  him,  she  would  always  take 
the  deepest  interest  in  his  welfare.'  This  startlingly 
new  and  original  remark  gave  Hannasyde  something 
to  think  over  for  two  years ;  and  his  own  vanity  filled 
in  the  other  twenty-four  months.  Hannasyde  was 
quite  different  from  Phil  Garron,  but,  none  the  less, 
had  several  points  in  common  with  that  far  too  lucky 
man. 

He  kept  his  unrequited  attachment  by  him  as  men 

293 


294  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  mT.T£ 

keep  a  well-smoked  pipe  —  for  comfort's  sake,  and 
because  it  had  grown  dear  in  the  using.  It  brought 
him  happily  through  one  Simla  season.  Hannasyde 
was  not  lovely.  There  was  a  crudity  in  his  manners, 
and  a  roughness  in  the  way  in  which  he  helped  a  lady  on 
to  her  horse,  that  did  not  attract  the  other  sex  to  him. 
Even  if  he  had  cast  about  for  their  favour,  which  he 
did  not.  He  kept  his  wounded  heart  all  to  himself  for 
a  while. 

Then  trouble  came  to  him.  All  who  go  to  Simla 
know  the  slope  from  the  Telegraph  to  the  Public 
Works  Office.  Hannasyde  was  loafing  up  the  hill,  one 
September  morning  between  calling  hours,  when  a 
'rickshaw  came  down  in  a  hurry,  and  in  the  'rickshaw 
sat  the  living,  breathing  image  of  the  girl  who  had 
made  him  so  happily  unhappy.  Hannasyde  leaned 
against  the  railings  and  gasped.  He  wanted  to  run 
downhill  after  the  'rickshaw,  but  that  was  impossible ; 
so  he  went  forward  with  most  of  his  blood  in  his 
temples.  It  was  impossible,  for  many  reasons,  that  the 
woman  in  the  'rickshaw  could  be  the  girl  he  had 
known.  She  was,  he  discovered  later,  the  wife  of  a 
man  from  Dindigul,  or  Coimbatore,  or  some  out-of-the- 
way  place,  and  she  had  come  up  to  Simla  early  in  the 
season  for  the  good  of  her  health.  She  was  going  back 
to  Dindigul,  or  wherever  it  was,  at  the  end  of  the  sea- 
son ;  and  in  all  likelihood  would  never  return  to  Simla 
again  ;  her  proper  Hill-station  being  Ootacamund.  That 
night  Hannasyde,  raw  and  savage  from  the  raking  up 
of  all  old  feelings,  took  counsel  with  himself  for  one 
measured  hour.  What  he  decided  upon  was  this  ;  and 
you  must  decide  for  yourself  how  much  genuine 
affection  for  the  old  Love,  and  how  much  a  very 


ON  THE  STRENGTH  OF  A  LIKENESS  295 

natural  inclination  to  go  abroad  and  enjoy  himself, 
affected  the  decision.  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert  would 
never  in  all  human  likelihood  cross  his  path  again. 
So  whatever  he  did  didn't  much  matter.  She  was  mar- 
vellously like  the  girl  who  '  took  a  deep  interest '  and 
the  rest  of  the  formula.  All  things  considered,  it 
would  be  pleasant  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  Mrs. 
Landys-Haggert,  and  for  a  little  time  —  only  a  very 
little  time  —  to  make  believe  that  he  was  with  Alice 
Chisane  again.  Every  one  is  more  or  less  mad  on 
one  point.  Hannasyde's  particular  monomania  was 
his  old  love,  Alice  Chisane. 

He  made  it  his  business  to  get  introduced  to  Mrs. 
Haggert,  and  the  introduction  prospered.  He  also 
made  it  his  business  to  see  as  much  as  he  could  of 
that  lady.  When  a  man  is  in  earnest  as  to  interviews, 
the  facilities  which  Simla  offers  are  startling.  There 
are  garden-parties,  and  tennis-parties,  and  picnics,  and 
luncheons  at  Annandale,  and  rifle-matches,  and  dinners 
and  balls ;  besides  rides  and  walks,  which  are  matters 
of  private  arrangement.  Hannasyde  had  started  with 
the  intention  of  seeing  a  likeness,  and  he  ended  by 
doing  much  more.  He  wanted  to  be  deceived,  he 
meant  to  be  deceived,  and  he  deceived  himself  very 
thoroughly.  Not  only  were  the  face  and  figure  the 
face  and  figure  of  Alice  Chisane,  but  the  voice  and 
lower  tones  were  exactly  the  same,  and  so  were  the 
turns  of  speech ;  and  the  little  mannerisms,  that  every 
woman  has,  of  gait  and  gesticulation,  were  absolutely 
and  identically  the  same.  The  turn  of  the  head  was 
the  same ;  the  tired  look  in  the  eyes  at  the  end  of  a 
long  walk  was  the  same ;  the  stoop-ancl-wrench  over 
the  saddle  to  hold  in  a  pulling  horse  *vas  the  same; 


296  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

and  once,  most  marvellous  of  all,  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert 
singing  to  herself  in  the  next  room,  while  Hannasyde 
was  waiting  to  take  her  for  a  ride,  hummed,  note  for 
note,  with  a  throaty  quiver  of  the  voice  in  the  second 
line,  '  Poor  Wandering  One  ! '  exactly  as  Alice  Chisane 
had  hummed  it  for  Hannasyde  in  the  dusk  of  an  English 
drawing-room.  In  the  actual  woman  herself  —  in  the 
soul  of  her — there  was  not  the  least  likeness;  she  and 
Alice  Chisane  being  cast  in  different  moulds.  But  all 
that  Hannasyde  wanted  to  know  and  see  and  think  about, 
was  this  maddening  and  perplexing  likeness  of  face  and 
voice  and  manner.  He  was  bent  on  making  a  fool  of 
himself  that  way ;  and  he  was  in  no  sort  disappointed. 

Open  and  obvious  devotion  from  any  sort  of  man 
is  always  pleasant  to  any  sort  of  woman ;  but  Mrs. 
Landys-Haggert,  being  a  woman  of  the  world,  could 
make  nothing  of  Hannasyde's  admiration. 

He  would  take  any  amount  of  trouble  — he  was  a 
selfish  man  habitually  —  to  meet  and  forestall,  if  pos- 
sible, her  wishes.  Anything  she  told  him  to  do  was 
law ;  and  he  was,  there  could  be  no  doubting  it,  fond 
of  her  company  so  long  as  she  talked  to  him,  and  kept 
on  talking  about  trivialities.  But  when  she  launched 
into  expression  of  her  personal  views  and  her  wrongs, 
those  small  social  differences  that  make  the  spice  of 
Simla  life,  Hannasyde  was  neither  pleased  nor  inter- 
ested. He  didn't  want  to  know  anything  about  Mrs. 
Landys-Haggert,  or  her  experiences  in  the  past  —  she 
had  travelled  nearly  all  over  the  world,  and  could  talk 
cleverly  —  he  wanted  the  likeness  of  Alice  Chisane 
before  his  eyes  and  her  voice  in  his  ears.  Anything 
outside  that,  reminding  him  of  another  personality, 
jarred,  and  he  showed  that  it  did. 


ON  THE  STRENGTH  OF  A  LIKENESS  297 

Under  the  new  Post  Office,  one  evening,  Mrs. 
Landys-Haggert  turned  on  him,  and  spoke  her  mind 
shortly  and  without  warning.  '  Mr.  Hannasyde,'  said 
she,  'will  you  be  good  enough  to  explain  why  you 
have  appointed  yourself  my  special  cavalier  servente? 
I  don't  understand  it.  But  I  am  perfectly  certain, 
somehow  or  other,  that  you  don't  care  the  least  little 
bit  in  the  world  for  me.'  This  seems  to  support,  by 
the  way,  the  theory  that  no  man  can  act  or  tell  lies  to 
a  woman  without  being  found  out.  Hannasyde  was 
taken  off  his  guard.  His  defence  never  was  a  strong 
one,  because  he  was  always  thinking  of  himself,  and 
he  blurted  out,  before  he  knew  what  he  was  saying, 
this  inexpedient  answer,  'No  more  I  do.' 

The  queerness  of  the  situation  and  the  reply,  made 
Mrs.  Landys-Haggert  laugh.  Then  it  all  came  out ; 
and  at  the  end  of  Hannasyde's  lucid  explanation 
Mrs.  Haggert  said,  with  the  least  little  touch  of 
scorn  in  her  voice,  '  So  I'm  to  act  as  the  lay-figure 
for  you  to  hang  the  rags  of  your  tattered  affections  on, 
am  I  ? ' 

Hannasyde  didn't  see  what  answer  was  required, 
and  he  devoted  himself  generally  and  vaguely  to 
the  praise  of  Alice  Chisane,  which  was  unsatisfac- 
tory. Now  it  is  to  be  thoroughly  made  clear  that 
Mrs.  Haggert  had  not  the  shadow  of  a  ghost  of  an 
interest  in  Hannasyde.  Only  .  .  .  only  no  woman 

likes    being    made    love    through    instead   of   to 

specially  on  behalf  of  a  musty  divinity  of  four  years' 
standing. 

Hannasyde  did  not  see  that  he  had  made  any  very 
particular  exhibition  of  himself.  He  was  glad  to  find 
a  sympathetic  soul  in  the  arid  wastes  of  Simla. 


298  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

When  the  season  ended,  Hannasyde  went  down  to 
his  own  place  and  Mrs.  Haggert  to  hers.  '  It  was  like 
making  love  to  a  ghost,'  said  Hannasyde  to  himself, 
'and  it  doesn't  matter;  and  now  I'll  get  to  my  work.' 
But  he  found  himself  thinking  steadily  of  the  Haggert* 
Chisane  ghost;  and  he  could  not  be  certain  whether 
it  was  Haggert  or  Chisane  that  made  up  the  greater 
part  of  the  pretty  phantom. 


He  got  understanding  a  month  later. 

A  peculiar  point  of  this  peculiar  country  is  the  way 
in  which  a  heartless  Government  transfers  men  from 
one  end  of  the  Empire  to  the  other.  You  can  never 
be  sure  of  getting  rid  of  a  friend  or  an  enemy  till  he 
or  she  dies.  There  was  a  case  once  — but  that's  another 
story. 

Haggert's  Department  ordered  him  up  from  Din- 
digul  to  the  Frontier  at  two  days'  notice,  and  he  went 
through,  losing  money  at  every  step,  from  Dindigul  to 
his  station.  He  dropped  Mrs.  Haggert  at  Lucknow, 
to  stay  with  some  friends  there,  to  take  part  in  a  big 
ball  at  the  Chutter  Munzil,  and  to  come  on  when  he 
had  made  the  new  home  a  little  comfortable.  Luck- 
now  was  Hannasyde's  station,  and  Mrs.  Haggert  stayed 
a  week  there.  Hannasyde  went  to  meet  her.  As  the 
train  came  in,  he  discovered  what  he  had  been  think- 
ing of  for  the  past  month.  The  unwisdom  of  his  con- 
duct also  struck  him.  The  Lucknow  week,  with  two 
dances,  and  an  unlimited  quantity  of  rides  together, 
clinched  matters  ;  and  Hannasyde  found  himself  pac- 
ing this*  circle  of  thought :  —  He  adored  Alice  Chisane, 
H,  Wat  he  had  adored  her.  And  he  admired  Mrs. 


ON  THE  STRENGTH  OF  A  LIKENESS  299 

Landys-Haggert  because  she  was  like  Alice  Chisane. 
But  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert  was  not  in  the  least  like 
Alice  Chisane,  being  a  thousand  times  more  adorable. 
Now  Alice  Chisane  was  '  the  bride  of  another,'  and  so 
was  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert,  and  a  good  and  honest  wife 
too.  Therefore  he,  Hannasyde,  was  .  .  .  here  he 
called  himself  several  hard  names,  and  wished  that  he 
had  been  wise  in  the  beginning. 

Whether  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert  saw  what  was  going 
on  in  his  mind,  she  alone  knows.  He  seemed  to  take 
an  unqualified  interest  in  everything  connected  with 
herself,  as  distinguished  from  the  Alice-Chisane  like- 
ness, and  he  said  one  or  two  things  which,  if  Alice 
Chisane  had  been  still  betrothed  to  him,  could  scarcely 
have  been  excused,  even  on  the  grounds  of  the  likeness. 
But  Mrs.  Haggert  turned  the  remarks  aside,  and  spent 
a  long  time  in  making  Hannasyde  see  what  a  comfort 
and  a  pleasure  she  had  been  to  him  because  of  her 
strange  resemblance  to  his  old  love.  Hannasyde 
groaned  in  his  saddle  and  said,  '  Yes,  indeed,'  and 
busied  himself  with  preparations  for  her  departure  to 
the  Frontier,  feeling  very  small  and  miserable. 

The  last  day  of  her  stay  at  Lucknow  came,  and 
Hannasyde  saw  her  off  at  the  Railway  Station.  She 
was  very  grateful  for  his  kindness  and  the  trouble  he 
had  taken,  and  smiled  pleasantly  and  sympathetically 
as  one  who  knew  the  Alice-Chisane  reason  of  that 
kindness.  And  Hannasyde  abused  the  coolies  with 
the  luggage,  and  hustled  the  people  on  the  platform, 
and  prayed  that  the  roof  might  fall  in  and  slay 
him. 

As  the  train  went  out  slowly,  Mrs.  Landys-Haggert 
leaned  out  of  the  window  to  say  good-bye  — '  On 


300  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

second  thoughts  au  revoir,  Mr.  Hannasyde.  I  go 
Home  in  the  Spring,  and  perhaps  I  may  meet  you  in 
Town.' 

Hannasyde  shook  hands,  and  said  very  earnestly 
and  adoringly  — '  I  hope  to  Heaven  I  shall  never  see 
your  face  again  ! ' 

And  Mrs.  Haggert  understood. 


WRESSLEY   OF   THE   FOREIGN   OFFICE 

I  closed  and  drew  for  my  Love's  sake, 

That  now  is  false  to  me, 
And  I  slew  the  Riever  of  Tarrant  Moss, 

And  set  Dumeny  free. 

And  ever  they  give  me  praise  and  gold, 

And  ever  I  moan  my  loss ; 
For  I  struck  the  blow  for  my  false  Love's  sake, 

And  not  for  the  men  of  the  Moss  ! 

—  Tarrant  Moss. 

ONE  of  the  many  curses  of  our  life  in  India  is  the 
want  of  atmosphere  in  the  painter's  sense.  There 
are  no  half-tints  worth  noticing.  Men  stand  out  all 
crude  and  raw,  with  nothing  to  tone  them  down,  and 
nothing  to  scale  them  against.  They  do  their  work, 
and  grow  to  think  that  there  is  nothing  but  their  work, 
and  nothing  like  their  work,  and  that  they  are  the  real 
pivots  on  which  the  Administration  turns.  Here  is  an 
instance  of  this  feeling.  A  half-caste  clerk  was  ruling 
forms  in  a  Pay  Office.  He  said  to  me,  '  Do  you  know 
what  would  happen  if  I  added  or  took  away  one  single 
Hue  on  this  sheet?  '  Then,  with  the  air  of  a  conspirator, 
'  It  would  disorganise  the  whole  of  the  Treasury  pay- 
ments throughout  the  whole  of  the  Presidency  Circle  ! 
Think  of  that ! ' 

301 


302  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

If  men  had  not  this  delusion  as  to  the  ultra- 
importance  of  their  own  particular  employments,  I 
suppose  that  they  would  sit  down  and  kill  themselves. 
But  their  weakness  is  wearisome,  particularly  when 
the  listener  knows  that  he  himself  commits  exactly 
the  same  sin. 

Even  the  Secretariat  believes  that  it  does  good 
when  it  asks  an  over-driven  Executive  Officer  to  take 
a  census  of  wheat-weevils  through  a  district  of  five 
thousand  square  miles. 

There  was  a  man  once  in  the  Foreign  Office  —  a 
man  who  had  grown  middle-aged  in  the  Department, 
and  was  commonly  said,  by  irreverent  juniors,  to  be 
able  to  repeat  Aitchison's  Treaties  and  Sunnuds  back- 
wards in  his  sleep.  What  he  did  with  his  stored 
knowledge  only  the  Secretary  knew ;  and  he,  naturally, 
would  not  publish  the  news  abroad.  This  man's  name 
was  Wressley,  and  it  was  the  Shibboleth,  in  those  days, 
to  say  — '  Wressley  knows  more  about  the  Central 
Indian  States  than  any  living  man.'  If  you  did  not 
say  this,  you  were  considered  one  of  mean  under- 
standing. 

Nowadays,  the  man  who  says  that  he  knows  the 
ravel  of  the  inter-tribal  complications  across  the  Bordei 
is  of  more  use  ;  but,  in  Wressley's  time,  much  attention 
was  paid  to  the  Central  Indian  States.  They  were 
called  '  foci '  and  '  factors,'  and  all  manner  of  imposing 
names. 

And  here  the  curse  of  Anglo-Indian  life  fell  heavily. 
When  Wressley  lifted  up  his  voice,  and  spoke  about 
such-and-such  a  succession  to  such-and-such  a  throne, 
the  Foreign  Office  were  silent,  and  Heads  of  Depart- 
ments repeated  the  last  two  or  three  words  of  Wress- 


WRESSLEY  OF  THE  FOREIGN  OFFICE  303 

ley's  sentences,  and  tacked  '  yes,  yes,'  on  to  them,  and 
knew  that  they  were  assisting  the  Empire  to  grapple 
with  serious  political  contingencies.  In  most  big 
undertakings,  one  or  two  men  do  the  work  while  the 
rest  sit  near  and  talk  till  the  ripe  decorations  begin  to 
fall. 

Wressley  was  the  working  member  of  the  Foreign 
Office  firm,  and,  to  keep  him  up  to  his  duties  when  he 
showed  signs  of  flagging,  he  was  made  much  of  by  his 
superiors  and  told  what  a  line  fellow  he  was.  He  did 
not  require  coaxing,  because  he  was  of  tough  build,  but 
what  he  received  confirmed  him  in  the  belief  that  there 
was  no  one  quite  so  absolutely  and  imperatively  neces- 
sary to  the  stability  of  India  as  Wressley  of  the  Foreign 
Office.  There  might  be  other  good  men,  but  the  known, 
honoured,  and  trusted  man  among  men  was  Wressley 
of  the  Foreign  Office.  We  had  a  Viceroy  in  those 
days  who  knew  exactly  when  to  '  gentle '  a  fractious 
big  man,  and  to  hearten-up  a  collar-galled  little  one, 
and  so  keep  all  his  ueam  level.  He  conveyed  to 
Wressley  the  impression  which  I  have  just  set  down ; 
and  even  tough  men  are  apt  to  be  disorganised  by  a 
Viceroy's  praise.  There  was  a  case  once  —  but  that  is 
another  story. 

All  men  knew  Wressley's  name  and  office  —  it  was 
in  Thacker  and  Spink's  Directory  —  but  who  he  was 
personally,  or  what  he  did,  or  what  his  special  merits 
were,  not  fifty  men  knew  or  cared.  His  work  filled  all 
his  time,  and  he  found  no  leisure  to  cultivate  acquaint- 
ances beyond  those  of  dead  Rajput  chiefs  with  Ahir 
blots  in  their  scutcheons.  Wressley  would  have  made 
a  very  good  Clerk  in  the  Herald's  College  had  he  not 
been  a  Bengal  Civilian. 


304  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

Upon  a  day,  between  office  and  office,  great  trouble 
came  to  Wressley  —  overwhelmed  him,  knocked  him 
down,  and  left  him  gasping  as  though  he  had  been  a 
little  schoolboy.  Without  reason,  against  prudence, 
and  at  a  moment's  notice,  he  fell  in  love  with  a  frivol- 
ous, golden-haired  girl  who  used  to  tear  about  Simla 
Mall  on  a  high,  rough  Waler,  with  a  blue  velvet  jockey- 
cap  crammed  over  her  eyes.  Her  name  was  Venner  — 
Tillie  Venner  —  and  she  was  delightful.  She  took 
Wressley's  heart  at  a  hand-gallop,  and  Wressley  found 
that  it  was  not  good  for  man  to  live  alone  ;  even  with 
half  the  Foreign  Office  Records  in  his  presses. 

Then  Simla  laughed,  for  Wressley  in  love  was 
slightly  ridiculous.  He  did  his  best  to  interest  the 
girl  in  himself  —  that  is  to  say,  his  work  —  and  she, 
after  the  manner  of  women,  did  her  best  to  appeal- 
interested  in  what,  behind  his  back,  she  called  '  Mr. 
W'essley's  Wajahs ' ;  for  she  lisped  very  prettily.  She 
did  not  understand  one  little  thing  about  them,  but  she 
acted  as  if  she  did.  Men  have  _.*rried  on  that  sort  of 
error  before  now. 

Providence,  however,  had  care  of  Wressley.  He  was 
immensely  struck  with  Miss  Venner's  intelligence.  He 
would  have  been  more  impressed  had  he  heard  her 
private  and  confidential  accounts  of  his  calls.  He  held 
peculiar  notions  as  to  the  wooing  of  girls.  He  said 
that  the  best  work  of  a  man's  career  should  be  laid 
reverently  at  their  feet.  Ruskin  writes  something  like 
this  somewhere,  I  think  ;  but  in  ordinary  life  a  few 
kisses  are  better  and  save  time. 

About  a  month  after  he  had  lost  his  heart  to  Miss 
Venner,  and  had  been  doing  his  work  vilely  in  conse- 
quence, the  first  idea  of  his  Native  Rule  in  Central 


WRESSLEY  OF  THE  FOREIGN  OFFICE  305 

India  struck  Wressley  and  filled  him  with  joy.  It 
was,  as  he  sketched  it,  a  great  thing  —  the  work  of  his 
life  —  a  really  comprehensive  survey  of  a  most  fascinat- 
ing subject  —  to  be  written  with  all  the  special  and 
laboriously  acquired  knowledge  of  Wressley  of  the 
Foreign  Office  —  a  gift  fit  for  an  Empress. 

He  told  Miss  Venner  that  he  was  going  to  take 
leave,  and  hoped,  on  his  return,  to  bring  her  a  present 
worthy  of  her  acceptance.  Would  she  wait?  Cer- 
tainly she  would.  Wressley  drew  seventeen  hundred 
rupees  a  month.  She  would  wait  a  year  for  that. 
Her  Mamma  would  help  her  to  wait. 

So  Wressley  took  one  year's  leave  and  all  the  availa- 
ble documents,  about  a  truck-load,  that  he  could  lay 
hands  on,  and  went  down  to  Central  India  with  his 
notion  hot  in  his  head.  He  began  his  book  in  the  land 
he  was  writing  of.  Too  much  official  correspondence 
had  made  him  a  frigid  workman,  and  he  must  have 
guessed  that  he  needed  the  white  light  of  local  colour 
on  his  palette.  This  is  a  dangerous  paint  for  amateurs 
to  play  with. 

Heavens,  how  that  man  worked !  He  caught  his 
Rajahs,  analysed  his  Rajahs,  and  traced  them  up  into 
the  mists  of  Time  and  beyond,  with  their  queens  and 
their  concubines.  He  dated  and  cross-dated,  pedi- 
greed and  triple-pedigreed,  compared,  noted,  connoted, 
wove,  strung,  sorted,  selected,  inferred,  calendared  and 
counter-calendared  for  ten  hours  a  day.  And,  because 
this  sudden  and  new  light  of  Love  was  upon  him,  he 
turned  those  dry  bones  of  history  and  dirty  records  of 
misdeeds  into  things  to  weep  or  to  laugh  over  as  he 
pleased.  His  heart  and  soul  were  at  the  end  of  his 
pen,  and  they  got  into  the  ink.  He  was  dowered  with 


306  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

sympathy,  insight,  humour,  and  style  for  two  hundred 
and  thirty  days  and  nights  ;  and  his  book  was  a  Book. 
He  had  his  vast  special  knowledge  with  him,  so  to 
speak  ;  but  the  spirit,  the  woven-in  human  Touch,  the 
poetry  and  the  power  of  the  output,  were  beyond  all 
special  knowledge.  But  I  doubt  whether  he  knew  the 
gift  that  was  in  him  then,  and  thus  he  may  have  lost 
some  happiness.  He  was  toiling  for  Tillie  Venner,  not 
for  himself.  Men  often  do  their  best  work  blind,  for 
some  one  else's  sake. 

Also,  though  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  story, 
in  India,  where  every  one  knows  every  one  else,  you 
can  watch  men  being  driven,  by  the  women  who  govern 
them,  out  of  the  rank-and-file  and  sent  to  take  up 
points  alone.  A  good  man,  once  started,  goes  forward; 
but  an  average  man,  so  soon  as  the  woman  loses  inter- 
est in  his  success  as  a  tribute  to  her  power,  comes  back 
to  the  battalion  and  is  no  more  heard  of. 

Wressley  bore  the  first  copy  of  his  book  to  Simla, 
and,  blushing  and  stammering,  presented  it  to  Miss 
Venner.  She  read  a  little  of  it.  I  give  her  review 
verbatim  — '  Oh,  your  book  ?  It's  all  about  those 
howwid  Wajahs.  I  didn't  understand  it.' 

******* 

Wressley  of  the  Foreign  Office  was  broken,  smashed, 
—  I  am  not  exaggerating,  —  by  this  one  frivolous  little 
girl.  All  that  he  could  say  feebly  was  — '  But  —  but 
it's  my  magnum  opus!  The  work  of  my  life.'  Miss 
Venner  did  not  know  what  magnum  opus  meant ;  but 
she  knew  that  Captain  Kerrington  had  won  three  races 
at  the  last  Gymkhana.  Wressley  didn't  press  her  to 
wait  for  him  any  longer.  He  had  sense  enough  for 
that. 


WRESSLEY  OF  THE  FOREIGN  OFFICE  307 

Then  came  the  reaction  after  the  year's  strain,  and 
Wressley  went  back  to  the  Foreign  Office  and  his 
'  Wajahs,'  a  compiling,  gazetteering,  report- writing  hack 
who  would  have  been  dear  at  three  hundred  rupees  a 
month.  He  abided  by  Miss  Venner's  review.  Which 
proves  that  the  inspiration  in  the  book  was  purely 
temporary  and  unconnected  with  himself.  Neverthe- 
less, he  had  no  right  to  sink,  in  a  hill-tarn,  five  packing- 
cases,  brought  up  at  enormous  expense  from  Bombay, 
of  the  best  book  of  Indian  history  every  written. 

When  he  sold  off  before  retiring,  some  years  later, 
I  was  turning  over  his  shelves,  and  came  across  the 
only  existing  copy  of  Native  Rule  in  Central  India  — 
the  copy  that  Miss  Vernier  could  not  understand.  I 
read  it,  sitting  on  his  mule-trunks,  as  long  as  the  light 
lasted,  and  offered  him  his  own  price  for  it.  He  looked 
over  my  shoulder  for  a  few  pages  and  said  to  himself 
drearily  — 

'Now,  how  in  the  world  did  I  come  to  write  such 
damned  good  stuff  as  that  ?  ' 

Then  to  me  — 

4  Take  it  and  keep  it.  Write  one  of  your  penny- 
farthing  yarns  about  its  birth.  Perhaps  —  perhaps  — 
the  whole  business  may  have  been  ordained  to  that 
end.' 

Which,  knowing  what  Wressley  of  the  Foreign  Office 
was  once,  struck  me  as  about  the  bitterest  thing  that  I 
had  ever  heard  a  man  say  of  his  own  work. 


BY  WORD  OF  MOUTH 

Not  though  you  die  to-night,  O  Sweet,  and  wail, 

A  spectre  at  my  door, 
Shall  mortal  Fear  make  Love  immortal  fail  — 

I  shall  but  love  you  more, 

Who,  from  Death's  house  returning,  give  me  still 
One  moment's  comfort  in  my  matchless  ill. 

—  Shadow  HouJ68. 

THIS  tale  may  be  explained  by  those  who  know  how 
souls  are  made,  and  where  the  bounds  of  the  Possible  are 
put  down.  I  have  lived  long  enough  in  this  India 
to  know  that  it  is  best  to  know  nothing,  and  can  only 
write  the  story  as  it  happened. 

Dumoise  was  our  Civil  Surgeon  at  Meridki,  and  we 
called  him  *  Dormouse,'  because  he  was  a  round  little, 
sleepy  little  man.  He  was  a  good  Doctor  and  never 
quarrelled  with  any  one,  not  even  with  our  Deputy 
Commissioner  who  had  the  manners  of  a  bargee  and 
the  tact  of  a  horse.  He  married  a  girl  as  round  and  as 
sleepy-looking  as  himself.  She  was  a  Miss  Hillardyce, 
daughter  of  '  Squash '  Hillardyce  of  the  Berars,  who 
married  his  Chief's  daughter  by  mistake.  But  that  is 
another  story. 

A  honeymoon  in  India  is  seldom  more  than  a  week 
long ;  but  there  is  nothing  to  hinder  a  couple  from  ex- 
tending it  over  two  or  three  years.  India  is  a  delightful 

308 


BY  WORD  OF  MOUTH  809 

country  for  married  folk  who  are  wrapped  up  in  one 
another.  They  can  live  absolutely  alone  and  without 
interruption  —  just  as  the  Dormice  did.  Those  two 
little  people  retired  from  the  world  after  their  marriage, 
and  were  very  happy.  They  were  forced,  of  course,  to 
give  occasional  dinners,  but  they  made  no  friends 
thereby,  and  the  Station  went  its  own  way  and  forgot 
them ;  only  saying,  occasionally,  that  Dormouse  was  the 
best  of  good  fellows,  though  dull.  A  Civil  Surgeon 
who  never  quarrels  is  a  rarity,  appreciated  as  such. 

Few  people  can  afford  to  play  Robinson  Crusoe  any- 
where —  least  of  all  in  India,  where  we  are  few  in  the 
land  and  very  much  dependent  on  each  other's  kind 
offices.  Dumoise  was  wrong  in  shutting  himself  from 
the  world  for  a  year,  and  he  discovered  his  mistake 
when  an  epidemic  of  typhoid  broke  out  in  the  Station 
in  the  heart  of  the  cold  weather,  and  his  wife  went 
down.  He  was  a  shy  little  man,  and  five  days  were 
wasted  before  he  realised  that  Mrs.  Dumoise  was 
burning  with  something  worse  than  simple  fever,  and 
three  days  more  passed  before  he  ventured  to  call  on 
Mrs.  Shute,  the  Engineer's  wife,  and  timidly  speak  about 
his  trouble.  Nearly  every  household  in  India  knows 
that  Doctors  are  very  helpless  in  typhoid.  The  battle 
must  be  fought  out  between  Death  and  the  Nurses 
minute  by  minute  and  degree  by  degree.  Mrs.  Shute 
almost  boxed  Dumoise's  ears  for  what  she  called  his 
'  criminal  delay,'  and  went  off  at  once  to  look  after  the 
poor  girl.  We  had  seven  cases  of  typhoid  in  the 
Station  that  winter  and,  as  the  average  of  death  is  about 
one  in  every  five  cases,  we  felt  certain  that  we  should 
have  to  lose  somebody.  But  all  did  their  best.  The 
women  sat  up  nursing  the  women,  and  the  men  turned 


310  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

to  and  tended  the  bachelors  who  were  down,  and  we 
wrestled  with  those  typhoid  cases  for  fifty-six  days, 
and  brought  them  through  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow 
in  triumph.  But,  just  when  we  thought  all  was  over, 
and  were  going  to  give  a  dance  to  celebrate  the  victory, 
little  Mrs.  Dumoise  got  a  relapse  and  died  in  a  week 
and  the  Station  went  to  the  funeral.  Dumoise  broke 
down  utterly  at  the  brink  of  the  grave,  and  had  to  be 
taken  away. 

After  her  death,  Dumoise  crept  into  his  house  and 
refused  to  be  comforted.  He  did  his  duties  perfectly, 
but  we  all  felt  that  he  should  go  on  leave,  and  the 
other  men  of  his  own  Service  told  him  so.  Dumoise 
was  very  thankful  for  the  suggestion  —  he  was  thankful 
for  anything  in  those  days  —  and  went  to  Chini  on  a 
walking-tour.  Chini  is  some  twenty  marches  from 
Simla,  in  the  heart  of  the  Hills,  and  the  scenery  is  good 
if  you  are  in  trouble.  You  pass  through  big,  still 
deodar-forests,  and  under  big,  still  cliffs,  and  over 
big,  still  grass-downs  swelling  like  a  woman's  breasts  ; 
and  the  wind  across  the  grass  and  the  rain  among 
the  deodars  say  — '  Hush  —  hush  —  hush  !  '  So  little 
Dumoise  was  packed  off  to  Chini,  to  wear  down  his 
grief  with  a  full-plate  camera  and  a  rifle.  He  took 
also  a  useless  bearer,  because  the  man  had  been  his 
wife's  favourite  servant.  He  was  idle  and  a  thief,  but 
Dumoise  trusted  everything  to  him. 

On  his  way  back  from  Chini,  Dumoise  turned  aside 
to  Bagi,  through  the  Forest  Reserve  which  is  on  the  spur 
of  Mount  Huttoo.  Some  men  who  have  travelled 
more  than  a  little  say  that  the  march  from  Kotegarh  to 
Bagi  is  one  of  the  finest  in  creation.  It  runs  through 
dark  wet  forest,  and  ends  suddenly  in  bleak,  nipped  hill- 


BY  WORD  OF  MOUTH  311 

side  and  black  rocks.  Bagi  dak-bungalow  is  open  to 
all  the  winds  and  is  bitterly  cold.  Few  people  go  to 
Bagi.  Perhaps  that  was  the  reason  why  Dumoise  went 
there.  He  halted  at  seven  in  the  evening,  and  his  bearer 
went  down  the  hillside  to  the  village  to  engage  coolies 
for  the  next  day's  march.  Thfe  sun  had  set,  and  the 
night-winds  were  beginning  to  croon  among  the  rocks. 
Dumoise  leaned  on  the  railing  of  the  verandah,  waiting 
for  his  bearer  to  return.  The  man  came  back  almost 
immediately  after  he  had  disappeared,  and  at  such  a 
rate  that  Dumoise  fancied  he  must  have  crossed  a  bear. 
He  was  running  as  hard  as  he  could  up  the  face  of  the 
hill. 

But  there  was  no  bear  to  account  for  his  tercor. 
He  raced  to  the  verandah  and  fell  down,  the  blood 
spurting  from  his  nose  and  his  face  iron-gray.  Then 
he  gurgled  — '  I  have  seen  the  Memsahib  !  I  have  seen 
the  Memsahib! ' 

'Where?'  said  Dumoise. 

'  Down  there,  walking  on  the  road  to  the  village. 
She  was  in  a  blue  dress,  and  she  lifted  the  veil  of  her 
bonnet  and  said  — "  Ram  Dass,  give  my  salaams  to 
the  Sahib,  and  tell  him  that  I  shall  meet  him  next 
month  at  Nuddea."  Then  I  ran  away,  because  I  was 
afraid.' 

What  Dumoise  said  or  did  I  do  not  know.  Ram 
Dass  declares  that  he  said  nothing,  but  walked  up  and 
down  the  verandah  all  the  cold  night,  waiting  for  the 
Memsahib  to  come  up  the  hill,  and  stretching  out  his 
arms  into  the  dark.  But  no  Memsahib  came,  and,  next 
day,  he  went  on  to  Simla  cross-questioning  the  bearer 
every  hour. 

Ram  Dass   could  only  s»ay  that  he   had  met   Mrs. 


312  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

Dumoise  and  that  she  had  lifted  up  her  veil  and  given 
him  the  message  which  he  had  faithfully  repeated  to 
Dumoise.  To  this  statement  Ram  Dass  adhered.  He 
did  not  know  where  Nuddea  was,  had  no  friends  at 
Nuddea,  and  most  certainly  would  never  go  to  Nuddea ; 
not  though  his  pay  were  doubled. 

Nuddea  is  in  Bengal  and  has  nothing  whatever  to 
do  with  a  Doctor  serving  in  the  Punjab.  It  must  be 
more  than  twelve  hundred  miles  south  of  Meridki. 

Dumoise  went  through  Simla  without  halting,  and 
returned  to  Meridki,  there  to  take  over  charge  from  the 
man  who  had  been  officiating  for  him  during  his  tour. 
There  were  some  Dispensary  accounts  to  be  explained, 
and  some  recent  orders  of  the  Surgeon-General  to  be 
noted,  and,  altogether,  the  taking-over  was  a  full  day's 
work.  In  the  evening,  Dumoise  told  his  locum  tenens, 
who  was  an  old  friend  of  his  bachelor  days,  what  had 
happened  at  Bagi ;  and  the  man  said  that  Ram  Dass 
might  as  well  have  chosen  Tuticorin  while  he  was 
about  it. 

At  that  moment,  a  telegraph-peon  came  in  with  a 
telegram  from  Simla,  ordering  Dumoise  not  to  take 
over  charge  at  Meridki,  but  to  go  at  once  to  Nuddea 
on  special  duty.  There  was  a  nasty  outbreak  of  cholera 
at  Nuddea,  and  the  Bengal  Government,  being  short- 
handed,  as  usual,  had  borrowed  a  Surgeon  from  the 
Punjab. 

Dumoise  threw  the  telegram  across  the  table  and 
said  — 'Well?' 

The  other  Doctor  said  nothing.  It  was  all  that  he 
could  say. 

Then  he  remembered  that  Dumoise  had  passed 
through  Simla  on  his  way  from  Bagi ;  and  thus  might, 


BY  WORD  OF  MOUTH  313 

possibly,  have  heard  first  news  of  the  impending 
transfer. 

He  tried  to  put  the  question,  and  the  implied 
suspicion  into  words,  but  Dumoise  stopped  him  with 
— '  If  I  had  desired  that,  I  should  never  have  come 
back  from  Chini.  I  was  shooting  there.  I  wish  to 
live,  for  I  have  things  to  do  ...  but  I  shall  not  be 
sorry.' 

The  other  man  bowed  his  head,  and  helped,  in  the 
twilight,  to  pack  up  Dumoise's  just  opened  trunks. 
Ram  Dass  entered  with  the  lamps. 

'  Where  is  the  Sahib  going  ?  '  he  asked. 

'  To  Nuddea,'  said  Dumoise,  softly. 

Ram  Dass  clawed  Dumoise's  knees  and  boots  and 
begged  him  not  to  go.  Ram  Dass  wept  and  howled 
till  he  was  turned  out  of  the  room.  Then  he  wrapped 
up  all  his  belongings  and  came  back  to  ask  for  a 
character.  He  was  not  going  to  Nuddea  to  see  his 
Sahib  die  and,  perhaps,  to  die  himself. 

So  Dumoise  gave  the  man  his  wages  and  went  down 
to  Nuddea  alone  ;  the  other  Doctor  bidding  him  good- 
bye as  one  under  sentence  of  death. 

Eleven  days  later  lie  had  joined  his  Memsahib;  and 
the  Bengal  Government  had  to  borrow  a  fresh  Doctor 
to  cope  with  that  epidemic  at  Nuddea.  The  first 
importation  lay  dead  in  Chooadanga  dak-bungalow. 


TO   BE   FILED   FOR  REFERENCE 

By  the  hoof  of  the  Wild  Goat  up-tossed 
From  the  Cliff  where  She  lay  in  the  Sun, 

Fell  the  Stone 

To  the  Tarn  where  the  daylight  is  lost ; 
So  She  fell  from  the  light  of  the  Sun, 

And  alone. 

Now  the  fall  was  ordained  from  the  first, 
With  the  Goat  and  the  Cliff  and  the  Tarn, 

But  the  Stone 

Knows  only  Her  life  is  accursed, 
As  She  sinks  in  the  depths  of  the  Tarn, 

And  alone. 

Oh,  Thou  who  hast  builded  the  world  ! 
Oh,  Thou  who  hast  lighted  the  Sun  ! 
Oh,  Thou  who  hast  darkened  the  Tarn  I 

Judge  Thou 

The  sin  of  the  Stone  that  was  hurled 
By  the  Goat  from  the  light  of  the  Sun, 
As  She  sinks  in  the  mire  of  the  Tarn, 

Even  now  —  even  now  —  even  now  I 
—  From  the  Unpublished  Papers  of  Mclntosh  Jellaludin. 

*  SAY  is  it  dawn,  is  it  dusk  in  thy  Bower, 
Thou  whom  I  long  for,  who  longest  for  me  ? 
Oh,  be  it  night  —  be  it ' 

Here  he  fell  over  a  little  camel-colt  that  was  sleep- 
ing in  the  Serai  where  the  horse-traders  and  the  best 

314 


TO  BE  FILED  FOR  REFERENCE  315 

of  the  blackguards  from  Central  Asia  live ;  and,  because 
he  was  very  drunk  indeed  and  the  night  was  dark,  he 
could  not  rise  again  till  I  helped  him.  That  was  the 
beginning  of  my  acquaintance  with  Mclntosh  Jella- 
ludin.  When  a  loafer,  and  drunk,  sings  '  The  Song  of 
the  Bower,'  he  must  be  worth  cultivating.  He  got  off 
the  camel's  back  and  said,  rather  thickly,  'I  —  I  —  I'm 
a  bit  screwed,  but  a  dip  in  Loggerhead  will  put  me 
right  again ;  and,  I  say,  have  you  spoken  to  Symonds 
about  the  mare's  knees  ? ' 

Now  Loggerhead  was  six  thousand  weary  miles 
away  from  us,  close  to  Mesopotamia,  where  you 
mustn't  fish  and  poaching  is  impossible,  and  Charley 
Symonds'  stable  a  half-mile  further  across  the  paddocks. 
It  was  strange  to  hear  all  the  old  names,  on  a  May 
night,  among  the  horses  and  camels  of  the  Sultan 
Caravanserai.  Then  the  man  seemed  to  remember 
himself  and  sober  down  at  the  same  time.  He 
leaned  against  the  camel  and  pointed  to  a  corner  of 
the  Serai  where  a  lamp  was  burning. 

*  I  live  there,'  said  he,  '  and  I  should  be  extremely 
obliged  if  you  would  be  good  enough  to  help  my 
mutinous  feet  thither  ;  for  I  am  more  than  usually 
drunk  —  most — most  phenomenally  tight.  But  not  in 
respect  to  my  head.  "  My  brain  cries  out  against "  — 
how  does  it  go  ?  But  my  head  rides  on  the  —  rolls 
on  the  dunghill  I  should  have  said,  and  controls  the 
qualm.' 

I  helped  him  through  the  gangs  of  tethered  horses 
and  he  collapsed  on  the  edge  of  the  verandah  in  front 
of  the  line  of  native  quarters. 

4  Thanks  —  a  thousand  thanks  !  O  Moon  and  little, 
little  Stars  !  To  think  that  a  man  should  so  shame- 


316  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

lessly  .  .  .  Infamous  liquor  too.  Ovid  in  exile  drank 
no  worse.  Better.  It  was  frozen.  Alas  !  I  had  no 
ice.  Good-night.  I  would  introduce  you  to  my  wife 
were  I  sober  —  or  she  civilised.' 

A  native  woman  came  out  of  the  darkness  of  the 
room,  and  began  calling  the  man  names  ;  so  I  went 
away.  He  was  the  most  interesting  loafer  that  I  had 
had  the  pleasure  of  knowing  for  a  long  time ;  and  later 
on  he  became  a  friend  of  mine.  He  was  a  tall,  well- 
built,  fair  man,  fearfully  shaken  with  drink,  and  he 
looked  nearer  fifty  than  the  thirty-five  which,  he  said, 
was  his  real  age.  When  a  man  begins  to  sink  in  India, 
and  is  not  sent  Home  by  his  friends  as  soon  as  may  be, 
he  falls  very  low  from  a  respectable  point  of  view.  By 
the  time  that  he  changes  his  creed,  as  did  Mclntosh, 
he  is  past  redemption. 

In  most  big  cities,  natives  will  tell  you  of  two  or 
three  Sahibs,  generally  low-caste,  who  have  turned 
Hindu  or  Mussulman,  and  who  live  more  or  less  as 
such.  But  it  is  not  often  that  you  can  get  to  know 
them.  As  Mclntosh  himself  used  to  say,  '  If  I  change 
my  religion  for  my  stomach's  sake,  I  do  not  seek  to 
become  a  martyr  to  missionaries,  nor  am  I  anxious  for 
notoriety.' 

At  the  outset  of  acquaintance  Mclntosh  warned 
me.  '  Remember  this.  I  am  not  an  object  for  charity. 
I  require  neither  your  money,  your  food,  nor  your  cast- 
off  raiment.  I  am  that  rare  animal,  a  self-supporting 
drunkard.  If  you  choose,  I  will  smoke  with  you,  for 
the  tobacco  of  the  bazars  does  not,  I  admit,  suit  my 
palate  ;  and  I  will  borrow  any  books  which  you  may 
not  specially  value.  It  is  more  than  likely  that  I 
shall  sell  them  for  bottles  of  excessively  filthy  country- 


TO  BE  FILED  FOB  REFERENCE  317 

jSquors.  In  return,  you  shall  share  such  hospitality  as 
my  house  affords.  Here  is  a  charpoy  on  which  two 
can  sit,  and  it  is  possible  that  there  may,  from  time  to 
time,  be  food  in  that  platter.  Drink,  unfortunately, 
you  will  find  on  the  premises  at  any  hour  :  and  thus 
I  make  you  welcome  to  all  my  poor  establishment.' 

I  was  admitted  to  the  Mclntosh  household  —  I  and 
my  good  tobacco.  But  nothing  else.  Unluckily,  one 
cannot  visit  a  loafer  in  the  Serai  by  day.  Friends 
buying  horses  would  not  understand  it.  Consequently, 
I  was  obliged  to  see  Mclntosh  after  dark.  He  laughed 
at  this,  and  said  simply,  '  You  are  perfectly  right. 
When  I  enjoyed  a  position  in  society,  rather  higher 
than  yours,  I  should  have  done  exactly  the  same  thing. 
Good  Heavens  !  I  was  once '  —  he  spoke  as  though  he 
had  fallen  from  the  Command  of  a  Regiment  —  'an 
Oxford  Man  ! '  This  accounted  for  the  reference  to 
Charley  Symonds'  stable. 

'  You,'  said  Mclntosh,  slowly,  '  have  not  had  that 
advantage  ;  but,  to  outward  appearance,  you  do  not 
seem  possessed  of  a  craving  for  strong  drinks.  On  the 
whole,  I  fancy  that  you  are  the  luckier  of  the  two. 
Yet  I  am  not  certain.  You  are  —  forgive  my  saying  so 
even  while  I  am  smoking  your  excellent  tobacco  —  pain- 
fully ignorant  of  many  things.' 

We  were  sitting  together  on  the  edge  of  his  bedstead, 
for  he  owned  no  chairs,  watching  the  horses  being 
watered  for  the  night,  while  the  native  woman  was 
preparing  dinner.  I  did  not  like  being  patronised  by  a 
loafer,  but  I  was  his  guest  for  the  time  being,  though 
lie  owned  only  one  very  torn  alpaca-coat  and  a  pair  of 
trousers  made  out  of  gunny-bags.  He  took  the  pipe 
out  of  his  mouth,  and  went  on  judicially,  '  All  things 


318  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

considered,  I  doubt  whether  you  are  the  luckier.  I  do 
not  refer  to  your  extremely  limited  classical  attain- 
ments, or  your  excruciating  quantities,  but  to  your 
gross  ignorance  of  matters  more  immediately  under 
your  notice.  That,  for  instance,'  he  pointed  to  a  woman 
cleaning  a  samovar  near  the  well  in  the  centre  of  the 
Serai.  She  was  flicking  the  water  out  of  the  spout  in 
regular  cadenced  jerks. 

'There  are  ways  and  ways  of  cleaning  samovars. 
If  you  knew  why  she  was  doing  her  work  in  that 
particular  fashion,  you  would  know  what  the  Spanish 
Monk  meant  when  he  said — 

I  the  Trinity  illustrate, 

Drinking  watered  orange-pulp  — 
In  three  sips  the  Aryan  frustrate, 

While  he  drains  his  at  one  gulp  — 

and  many  other  things  which  now  are  hidden  from  your 
eyes.  However,  Mrs.  Mclntosh  has  prepared  dinner. 
Let  us  come  and  eat  after  the  fashion  of  the  people  of 
the  country  —  of  whom,  by  the  way,  you  know  nothing.' 

The  native  woman  dipped  her  hand  in  the  dish  with 
us.  This  was  wrong.  The  wife  should  always  wait 
until  the  husband  has  eaten.  Mclntosh  Jellaludin 
apologised,  saying  — 

'  It  is  an  English  prejudice  which  I  have  not  been 
able  to  overcome;  and  she  loves  me.  Why,  I  have 
never  been  able  to  understand.  I  foregathered  with 
her  at  Jullundur,  three  years  ago,  and  she  has  remained 
with  me  ever  since.  I  believe  her  to  be  moral,  and 
know  her  to  be  skilled  in  cookery.' 

He  patted  the  woman's  head  as  he  spoke,  and  she 
cooed  softly.  She  was  not  pretty  to  look  at- 


TO  BE  FILED  FOR  REFERENCE  819 

Melntosh  never  told  me  what  position  he  had  held 
before  his  fall.  He  was,  when  sober,  a  scholar  and  a 
gentleman.  When  drunk,  he  was  rather  more  of  the 
first  than  the  second.  He  used  to  get  drunk  about 
once  a  week  for  two  days.  On  those  occasions  the 
native  woman  tended  him  while  he  raved  in  all  tongues 
except  his  own.  One  day,  indeed,  he  began  reciting 
Atalanta  in  Calydon,  and  went  through  it  to  the  end, 
beating  time  to  the  swing  of  the  verse  with  ?  Bedstead- 
leg.  But  he  did  most  of  his  ravings  in  Greek  or 
German.  The  man's  mind  was  a  perfect  rag-bag  of 
useless  things.  Once,  when  he  was  beginning  to  get 
sober,  he  told  me  that  I  was  the  only  rational  being  in 
the  Inferno  into  which  he  had  descended  —  a  Virgil 
in  the  Shades,  he  said  —  and  that,  in  return  for  my 
tobacco,  he  would,  before  he  died,  give  me  the  materials 
of  a  new  Inferno  that  should  make  me  greater  than 
Dante.  Then  he  fell  asleep  on  a  horse-blanket  and 
woke  up  quite  calm. 

'Man,'  said  he,  'when  you  have  reached  the  utter- 
most depths  of  degradation,  little  incidents  which  would 
vex  a  higher  life  are  to  you  of  no  consequence.  Last 
night,  my  soul  was  among  the  Gods ;  but  I  make  no 
doubt  that  rny  bestial  body  was  writhing  down  here  in 
the  garbage.' 

'  You  were  abominably  drunk,  if  that's  what  you 
mean,'  I  said. 

'  I  was  drunk  —  filthily  drunk.  I  who  am  the  son 
of  a  man  with  whom  you  have  no  concern  —  I  who  was 
once  Fellow  of  a  College  whose  buttery-hatch  you  have 
not  seen.  I  was  loathsomely  drunk.  But  consider 
how  lightly  I  am  touched.  It  is  nothing  to  me.  Less 
than  nothing ;  for  I  do  not  even  feel  the  headache 


320  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

which  should  be  my  portion.  Now,  in  a  higher  life, 
how  ghastly  would  have  been  my  punishment,  how 
bitter  my  repentance  !  Believe  me,  my  friend  with  the 
neglected  education,  the  highest  is  as  the  lowest  — 
always  supposing  each  degree  extreme.' 

He  turned  round  on  the  blanket,  put  his  head 
between  his  fists,  and  continued  — 

4  On  the  Soul  which  I  have  lost  and  on  the  Con- 
science which  I  have  killed,  I  tell  you  that  I  cannot 
feel !  I  am  as  the  Gods,  knowing  good  and  evil,  but 
untouched  by  either.  Is  this  enviable  or  is  it  not  ? ' 

When  a  man  has  lost  the  warning  of  'next  morn- 
ing's head,'  he  must  be  in  a  bad  state.  I  answered, 
looking  at  Mclntosh  on  the  blanket,  with  his  hair  over 
his  eyes,  and  his  lips  blue-white,  that  I  did  not  think 
the  insensibility  good  enough. 

4  For  pity's  sake,  don't  say  that !  I  tell  you,  it  is 
good  and  most  enviable.  Think  of  my  consolations  ! ' 

'  Have  you  so  many,  then,  Mclntosh  ? ' 

4  Certainly  ;  your  attempts  at  sarcasm,  which  is  essen- 
tially the  weapon  of  a  cultured  man,  are  crude.  First, 
my  attainments,  my  classical  and  literary  knowledge, 
blurred,  perhaps,  by  immoderate  drinking  —  which  re- 
minds me  that  before  my  soul  went  to  the  Gods  last 
night,  I  sold  the  Pickering  Horace  you  so  kindly  lent 
me.  Ditta  Mull  the  clothesman  has  it.  It  fetched 
ten  annas,  and  may  be  redeemed  for  a  rupee  —  but 
still  infinitely  superior  to  yours.  Secondly,  the  abid- 
ing affection  of  Mrs.  Mclntosh,  best  of  wives.  Thirdly, 
a  monument,  more  enduring  than  brass,  which  I  have 
built  up  in  the  seven  years  of  my  degradation.' 

He  stopped  here,  and  crawled  across  the  room  for  a 
drink  of  water.  He  was  very  shaky  and  sick. 


TO  BE  FILED  FOR  REFERENCE  321 

He  referred  several  times  to  his  *  treasure  '  —  some 
great  possession  that  he  owned  —  but  I  held  this  to  be 
the  raving  of  drink.  He  was  as  poor  and  as  proud 
as  he  could  be.  His  manner  was  not  pleasant,  but  he 
knew  enough  about  the  natives,  among  whom  seven 
years  of  his  life  had  been  spent,  to  make  his  acquaint- 
ance worth  having.  He  used  actually  to  laugh  at 
Strickland  as  an  ignorant  man  —  '  ignorant  West  and 
East '  —  he  said.  His  boast  was,  first,  that  he  was  an 
Oxford  man  of  rare  and  shining  parts,  which  may  or 
may  not  have  been  true  —  I  did  not  know  enough  to 
check  his  statements  —  and,  secondly,  that  he  '  had  his 
hand  on  the  pulse  of  native  life '  —  which  was  a  fact. 
As  an  Oxford  man,  he  struck  me  as  a  prig :  he  was 
always  throwing  his  education  about.  As  a  Moham- 
medan faquir — as  Mclntosh  Jellaludin  —  he  was  all 
that  I  wanted  for  my  own  ends.  He  smoked  several 
pounds  of  my  tobacco,  and  taught  me  several  ounces 
of  things  worth  knowing ;  but  he  would  never  accept 
any  gifts,  not  even  when  the  cold  weather  came,  and 
gripped  the  poor  thin  chest  under  the  poor  thin  alpaca- 
coat.  He  grew  very  angry,  and  said  that  I  had  in- 
sulted him,  and  that  he  was  not  going  into  hospital. 
He  had  lived  like  a  beast  and  he  would  die  rationally, 
like  a  man. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  died  of  pneumonia ;  and  on 
the  night  of  his  death  sent  over  a  grubby  note  asking 
me  to  come  and  help  him  to  die. 

The  native  woman  was  weeping  by  the  side  of 
the  bed.  Mclntosh,  wrapped  in  a  cotton  cloth,  was 
too  weak  to  resent  a  fur  coat  being  thrown  over  him. 
He  was  very  active  as  far  as  his  mind  was  concerned, 
and  his  eyes  were  blazing.  When  he  had  abused  the 


822  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

Doctor  who  came  with  me,  so  foully  that  the  indig- 
nant old  fellow  left,  he  cursed  me  for  a  few  minutes 
and  calmed  down. 

Then  he  told  his  wife  to  fetch  out '  The  Book '  from 
a  hole  in  the  wall.  She  brought  out  a  big  bundle, 
wrapped  in  the  tail  of  a  petticoat,  of  old  sheets  of 
miscellaneous  notepaper,  all  numbered  and  covered 
with  fine  cramped  writing.  Mclntosh  ploughed  his 
hand  through  the  rubbish  and  stirred  it  up  lovingly. 

'  This,'  he  said,  'is  my  work — the  Book  of  Mclntosh 
Jellaludin,  showing  what  he  saw  and  how  he  lived,  and 
what  befell  him  and  others ;  being  also  an  account  of 
the  life  and  sins  and  death  of  Mother  Maturin.  What 
Mirza  Murad  Ali  Beg's  book  is  to  all  other  books  on 
native  life,  will  my  work  be  to  Mirza  Murad  Ali  Beg's  ! ' 

This,  as  will  be  conceded  by  any  one  who  knows 
Mirza  Murad  Ali  Beg's  book,  was  a  sweeping  state- 
ment. The  papers  did  not  look  specially  valuable  ; 
but  Mclntosh  handled  them  as  if  they  were  currency- 
notes.  Then  said  he  slowly  — 

'  In  despite  the  many  weaknesses  of  your  education, 
you  have  been  good  to  me.  I  will  speak  of  your 
tobacco  when  I  reach  the  Gods.  I  owe  you  much 
thanks  for  many  kindnesses.  But  I  abominate  indebt- 
edness. For  this  reason,  I  bequeath  to  you  now  the 
monument  more  enduring  than  brass  —  my  one  book  — 
rude  and  imperfect  in  parts,  but  oh  how  rare  in  others  ! 
I  wonder  if  you  will  understand  it.  It  is  a  gift  mor« 
honourable  than  .  .  .  Bah !  where  is  my  brain  rani' 
bling  to  ?  You  will  mutilate  it  horribly.  You  will  knock 
out  the  gems  you  call  Latin  quotations,  you  Philistine, 
and  you  will  butcher  the  style  to  carve  into  your  own 
jerky  jargon  ;  but  you  cannot  destroy  the  whole  of  it. 


TO  BE  FILED  FOR  REFERENCE  823 

I  bequeath  it  to  you.  Ethel  .  .  .  My  brain  again  !  .  . . 
Mrs.  Mclntosh,  bear  witness  that  I  give  the  Sahib  all 
these  papers.  They  would  be  of  no  use  to  you,  Heart 
of  my  Heart;  and  I  lay  it  upon  you,'  he  turned  to 
me  here,  '  that  you  do  not  let  my  book  die  in  its  pre- 
sent form.  It  is  yours  unconditionally  —  the  story  of 
Mclntosh  Jellaludin,  which  is  not  the  story  of  Mclntosh 
Jellaludin,  but  of  a  greater  man  than  he,  and  of  a  far 
greater  woman.  Listen  now  !  I  am  neither  mad  nor 
drunk  !  That  book  will  make  you  famous.' 

I  said,  '  Thank  you,'  as  the  native  woman  put  the 
bundle  into  my  arms. 

4  My  only  baby  I '  said  Mclntosh,  with  a  smile.  He 
was  sinking  fast,  but  he  continued  to  talk  as  long  as 
breath  remained.  I  waited  for  the  end ;  knowing  that 
in  six  cases  out  of  ten  a  dying  man  calls  for  his  mother. 
He  turned  on  his  side  and  said  — 

'  Say  how  it  come  into  your  possession.  No  one 
will  believe  you,  but  my  name,  at  least,  will  live.  You 
will  treat  it  brutally,  I  know  you  will.  Some  of  it 
must  go ;  the  public  are  fools  and  prudish  fools.  I  was 
Iheir  servant  once.  But  do  your  mangling  gently  — 
very  gently.  It  is  a  great  work,  and  I  have  paid  for 
it  in  seven  years'  damnation.' 

His  voice  stopped  for  ten  or  twelve  breaths,  and  then 
he  began  mumbling  a  prayer  of  some  kind  in  Greek. 
The  native  woman  cried  very  bitterly.  Lastly,  he  rose 
in  bed  and  said,  as  loudly  as  slowly  — '  Not  guilty,  my 
Lord  ! ' 

Then  he  fell  back,  and  the  stupor  held  him  till  he 
died.  The  native  woman  ran  into  the  Serai  among 
the  horses,  and  screamed  and  beat  her  breasts ;  for  she 
had  loved  him. 


824  PLAIN  TALES  FROM  THE  HILLS 

Perhaps  his  last  sentence  in  life  told  what  Mclntosh 
had  once  gone  through ;  but,  saving  the  big  bundle  of 
old  sheets  in  the  cloth,  there  was  nothing  in  his  room 
to  say  who  or  what  he  had  been. 

The  papers  were  in  a  hopeless  muddle. 

Strickland  helped  me  to  sort  them,  and  he  said  that 
the  writer  was  either  an  extreme  liar  or  a  most  wonder- 
ful person.  He  thought  the  former.  One  of  these 
days,  you  may  be  able  to  judge  for  yourselves.  The 
bundle  needed  much  expurgation  and  was  full  of  Greek 
nonsense,  at  the  head  of  the  chapters,  which  has  all 
been  cut  out. 

If  the  thing  is  ever  published,  some  one  may  perhaps 
remember  this  story,  now  printed  as  a  safeguard  to 
prove  that  Mclntosh  Jellaludin  and  not  I  myself  wrote 
the  Book  of  Mother  Maturin. 

I  don't  want  the  story  of  the  Giant's  Robe  to  come 
true  in  my  case. 


THE  END 


THE   COUNTRY   LIFE   PRESS,  GARDEN    CITY,  N.  Y. 


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